Ours is Winter, and Fury is coming!
by waitingforthehogwartsletter
Summary: The consequences of the won War on both sides of the Wall and a story of two people who were most definitely not meant to be highborn. - The story is my taking on Gendry and Arya sometime after the war with new problems, but it will have all the big characters in it (Daenerys, Jon, Bran, Sansa, Rickon, direwolves and dragons...) Rated M language/later chapters
1. Aftermath of the Two Wars

**A/N** _This is a mostly alternate ending story, since I've started it a very long time ago. It's loosely based on everyone (and especially a few characters I find very interesting) but should be Arya/Gendry centered. This first chapter was mostly for the meeting of the characters I could use to write in their POV's. Again, I repeat, it should mostly be Arya's and Gendry's POV. The story would most probably have a positive ending, and wouldn't be too long, but you'd better stay tuned to be certain! I'll do my best with this, enjoy!_

**Summary:** _The consequences of the won War on both sides of the Wall and a story of two people who were most definitely not meant to be highborn. Little bit of everything in here!_

_**A longer summary to explain things that would have taken too long if they were to be included directly in the story:**_

_Jon, Bran, Rickon, Sansa and Arya are the only Starks left. Jon is legitimized by Daenerys once she won the Throne back. He manages to leave the Night's Watch to help in rebuilding Winterfell. No one's heard of Arya in a long time._

_Daenerys and her dragons are accompanied at King's Landing by her almost faithful Small Council. Lord Baelish is still somewhere inside the city, out of their reach. Stannis Baratheon was killed by one of his men when trying to shoot down a dragon._

_Gendry stuck with the Brotherhood, being a faithful soldier and a blessed smith, and above all, a knight. The Brotherhood is now taking their duty as arresting anyone rebelling against the new, precious Queen of Old. Lady Stoneheart remains with them with no explanations of her future plans._

_Cersei and Jaime Lannister died on the same day, Jaime being struck down by a tail of Daenerys's dragon, bleeding to death, with Cersei screaming on top of him until someone (of a fragile, lean built, with a hood covering their face) stabbed her in the back to stumble on top of her dying brother, now disappearing herself. Myrcella remained with her husband to be, and Tommen was taken care of by Tyrion, who lost his love by her protecting him during the attack._

_No one knows what happened to the Tyrells. But everyone knows Starks are dying out._

_And only a few know there is still one Baratheon alive._

**JON**

Jon's original plan was to only be of help in Winterfell and stay until the Kingdoms stabilized. He thought his authority on the Wall could be replaced, even with the Wildlings barely peaceful under the protection of the Wall's guardians. His authority with the more 'civilized' people was the most needed. The more they knew, the more they were capable of, and Jon found his heart aching for the simple tactics in defending the Wall before these dirty mind games when he was truly never fond of the same. Bran insisted Jon played the part of the Lord of Winterfell until there was no other choice but to return to the Wall. Bran promised him all the help he could muster in his brain and wits, and true to his word, he was with Jon on every council, in every moment when there was a decision to be made.

But then the things got complicated. Obviously, more than half of the Westeros adored the new Queen. Her kindness towards them has been more than unexpected with taking the recent monarchs in the view, but her dragons played the huge part, too. No one dared make her day unpleasant.

There had been problems, though. The Small Council consisted of Daenerys, her Dothraki commander, her army's Commander, the Spider and Tyrion Lannister. Too little variety for her people, as she had said in her letter to Winterfell, and she demanded either Jon's best recommendation for men to take in or, which she preferred, his own presence at the Council's meetings. There he had faced a problem. One of them, at least.

The other, closely related to the former matter, was his doubt in the cause of Queen's actions. He had been sure, as it was purely logical (Bran supported this first theory but also was the one to bring the less pure one), that her insistence on him in King's Landing was because she wanted the North and the South to be as close as possible, their people and lords in contact and the good relations she cherished so deeply at their strongest. Further on, it would make a reasonable sense into bringing another mighty House in the Council, and also, as Jon was very popular among the people, it would make even the ones displeased about her reign a little less worried. As the War had shown to all the Westeros, Jon was a younger, stronger and even more honourable version of Ned Stark. They would also call him The Commoner, since his childhood had not been easy as a bastard, and they thought he knew them better, understood them dearer than any Lord might. He helped that theory, of course, by proving it with his kindness towards everyone in every step.

But Danerys Targaryen was also fooling herself, Bran claimed. She had a soft spot for the Lord of Winterfell. Even more of one for the person the lord truly was.

During the month it took them to fight off the White Walkers, Daenerys was taken care of in the best possible way by Jon's orders and with him almost daily present around her. When she came from battles, he would make them be certain she was neither hurt nor hungry before she was to rest. There was always one of his most trusted men with her, alarming him of everything the Queen might have been in danger of. These actions of his made her heart a little warmer even in the cold ice the Wall harboured, and her smiles and looks of gratitude made his own broken heart mend like a sword in a smith's hand.

As the situation in both Wars, in Westeros and beyond the Wall has only lately been made better, Jon feared refusing to take his rightful part in the Council would upset Queen's reign and, well, heart.

As much as the fondness in their relationship made him want to be close to her, it also hurt him for being something he should never have, which made him want to go as far from her as possible.

But his was only one of countless hearts in Seven Kingdoms, so he took his family's, and especially Bran's, advice, and sent a letter to the court with the date of his arrival.

**DAENERYS**

The new Queen had never thought her land would be as broken and filthy as it was when it was officially and finally hers again. Least of all she had expected the love she bear for it to be even stronger at the sight of the broken, filthy people. This was her place, she knew, like she knew slaves were never meant to be and dragons were never made for earth. Her place in which she would mend the broken and clean the filthy. She would help and bring glory back in the shape not one living soul had ever known. She knew books would be written about her, songs and legends, and although she could not know for herself which adjective they would give her, she knew there would be many, and most certainly all positive.

King's Landing lacked in the beauty she saw in the rest of the land. It was purely lacking in justice. People, common people, were thrown in the streets like rats, while highborns enjoyed their every breath. So she changed things.

After less than 6 moons in her reign (after the White Walker's War), the streets were cleaned of both filth and beggars. The lords and ladies were given less and the common folk never starved anymore. Mysterious killings happened no more, and murders all in all were as rare as they would ever be.

And King's Landing was a royal place once again.

The answer to her letter came on a warm day and brought a kind of a storm in her heart. She almost chastised herself for being so childish – she would have, but for chastising herself she had to first admit to herself she was feeling rather more than what was convenient towards a certain man who was until recently called a bastard of North.

Next day, as the Small Council was seated, she informed them of the newcomer amongst themselves. As she spoke in the calmest voice she possessed, stating more logical reasons than necessary on this matter, she sounded all but logical to her shaky mind. The Queen was being put under too much stress in the most recent events.

Nevertheless, Jon Stark, former Snow, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, was to arrive with an unknown number of guests in less than a two moons notice.

**TYRION**

It was meant to take a lot to forget the pain he felt upon his most recent loss, but Tommen made the hollow parts of him cover themselves with yet remarkable speed.

Tyrion was never described as firstly kind or fatherly, but with his logic, sense and intelligence came a certain responsibility. He had an increasing amount of guilt inside of his gut, and with every twisted, bad, wrong, unfair thing he had or had not done purposely, he felt the affection towards the innocent, broken and weak blossom.

When Tommen Lannister came under his protection, there was nothing Lannister about him. He was yound and, all in all, nothing but another child. He had cried a lot during the first few weeks; his mother, father, brother, sister and uncle all missing, the boy felt confusion towards every single normal thing in the day. But as he was taught that Tyrion was the one to help him through the daily routine from now onwards, Tommen came to smile more often, run freely around the house, frighten the horses and stuff his nose anywhere near Tyrion's business. Then came the questions: at least 400 in a day. Tyrion was tired, but very pleased to have his nephew rely on his uncle to be the main character with all the answers. When after three nights staying awake for far too long Tommen fell asleep on Tyrion's lap while the man was describing the Wall to the boy, Tyrion almost let the water glide out of his eyes.

As much as the boy has suffered the loss of his mother and other uncle, Tyrion had suffered the loss of his siblings. To see one small person as Tommen escape from the family's burden of sick ideas made him as happy as the sight of his dead sibling lying upon one another made him burst in angst. It made him as happy as seeing Shae laughing after their restless nights. It made him as happy as much as seeing her fall, when the arrow meant for him hit her instead as she moved in front of him, made him want to receive one, too.

It took more than a lot of effort, but Tyrion, as much as a dwarf, was a man grown, succeeded in carrying Tommen to his bed. There, Tommen whimpered suddenly when being left in the cold bed, and the boy's eyes opened shortly before muttering "I saw Mother's hair on a spike and her face was still inside it". So Tyrion sat down in a chair, all during the night holding Tommen's hand and softly leaking from the corners of his eyes. Salty traces were gone by morning, but for a long time Tyrion could feel the warmth of his nephew's hand in his.

Tyrion Lannister had more honour than weight and height combined. He had more intelligence, or honesty, or goodness within his character than all the Lannister gold. He might have even had more intelligence than his father Tywin, had it not been for the fact that Tyrion was actually a good man. No good comes without a sacrifice, and no bad man has ever felt himself sacrificing anything.

So, when Daeneryis Targaryen came to take her rightful place at the Iron Throne, Tyrion didn't madly fight her as not only a minority of others had until she proved herself worthy. No, Tyrion didn't wait for her to prove herself. He waited for her to unravel herself.

Once he saw the look upon her face with his own eyes witnessing, when she was met with the terror of people and chaos in King's Landing, the Imp concluded she was worthy enough to be called Daenerys the Good. But as she collected herself just as quickly, the man knew she could as well be given the name of the Brave. Brave people knew to be stupid; and for standing still stubborn in her opinions of ruling the place that hasn't felt peace in so long, Daenerys could well have been stupid.

But when she ordered to bring three servants at random from any tower in the Court and questioned them about the state of the city, talking to them like they were just as noble as she, Tyrion knew she was kind. When she continued her actions towards the slaves and servants in the same matter as the first three, treating them better than fat lords and bitch ladies, Tyrion felt a confident smirk form on his face.

The Queen was wise.

The intelligent could well see who but them was also capable of manipulating minds. But the wise could see who else was able to help the weak and hurt the strong. The wise could separate the good and the bad, but they would also accept the simplest truth: most of the intelligent ones were the biggest of fools.

Tyrion took it for granted even before they spoke that he and the Queen would soon be in each other's trust. Sometimes Tyrion was reckless. Sometimes he lacked experience. Sometimes he overrated or underrated people. But the cruelty in the most recent times made his mind sharper and his heart bigger.

Tyrion was right.

It took her three weeks after Jon Stark was declared part of the council to finally come to him with guilt and truth on her face.

She rode her fastest dragon to Casterly Rock (Tyrion was feeling the bittersweet pleasure of being the one in command of the place) where he was sitting in the garden with his nephew, telling him the most precious stories of North. The child was becoming rather invested in matters concerning their cold neighbours with warm hearts.

She walked to him without a word. Tyrion needn't look up to know it was her; the sharp, fast clacking of her boots was original in the area.

"I've been wondering when you would finally present your honest thoughts on Commander Snow." Tyrion said calmly as she settled on the bench beside Tommen, who looked at the man and woman before excusing himself and taking Tyrion's book with him. Tyrion fondly smiled at the little thief for they had shared the same attraction towards the words, before he turned to face the Queen who had already caught the softness in him with her own eyes.

Although pleased to witness such affection and happiness, which she obviously was, her glare was sharp when she spoke.

"You are mistaken, my dear lord. The right title and name for the thought man would now be Lord Stark." Her voice was so soft and dear that Tyrion often wondered if she had to practice to bring the authority's coldness into it.

"My dear Dany, I fear you are the one in the wrong light." Tyrion softly tapped her palm after taking her hand into his. She had such small hands, being so young and small herself, that he could barely imagine himself a dwarf he was beside her. It made her becoming his friend a lot easier. "Lord Stark he may be now for all we know; but we both know he's grown to feel as a bastard, just as you have grown to despise slavery by being one yourself. You are so frustrated by it you could never stand to look at someone in the similar condition, reminding you of your time as one, am I not correct?"

"Still, he is a lord – "

"For now, as I've said." Tyrion shrugged. "Do not pretend the rumours and whispers aren't stuck in your thoughts. Jon, whether Stark or Snow, had never meant himself to be a lord for long. His honour and duty come first, so the Wall serves as his certain future."

Dany sat beside him for a while, just looking at the skies with a frown on her lovely face. "A respectable queen should not be disturbed by these thoughts. A good, honourable queen would not bother concerning herself or her dearest friend" she gave Tyrion a light smile, "with such matters."

There were times when Tyrion would have used the chance to mock her or just snort. There were times when Tyrion would even advise her not to give in for she had more important business. But these were new, tough times, and Tyrion couldn't speak of none of those.

"Dany, my only Queen, a matter of affection is not a matter that should ever be entwined with work or duty. That is why the Night's Watch, the toughest duty to ever be done, has their vows. They know the danger. After a while, everyone learns the danger. No matter whether you're a Crow, a Wildling, a smith or a queen. But what I have learned is that it cannot, this affection, be born purposely and cannot be killed willingly. Once it is there, the worst thing you can do is try to make it go away." Tyrion kept his eyes well fixed on Dany's. She looked like a child just then, and he thought maybe he wasn't such a poor fatherly figure at all. Although modesty would not be one of his virtue to imprint upon his 'children'. "If you try to make it go away, you hurt yourself, you hurt that person, you make yourself even more miserable and not only do you suffer, your duty suffers, too, and you, my Queen, are in no position to danger your duty. That is one thing you should never allow come near you."

Dany frowned even deeper. "Such wise words you give me, my friend. But how can I escape the danger when a single man has been able to capture my thoughts more than this whole Kingdom for more than a moon?"

Tyrion laughed and tapped her knee. "Love we can manage. And your thoughts are your own, so as long as you answer the questions as good as possible, no one will know you're not thinking of taxes, but of Lord Jon's strong hands."

**SANSA**

Sansa was offered to be taken to South with Jon's party, but no one was shocked when she refused it as fast as the words could allow her. After all the terror, cold, dull sky and calm, peaceful, silent atmosphere of North was making her more into her father than she had ever been.

She had not missed the fabulous gowns or the popular lords. She had not missed the morning's, noon's, afternoon's and night's gossips. She had not missed the way she was adored. She had not missed the way she was always inside the gossips she heard. All that she cared, all of it was now irrelevant.

What war does to a human…

Sansa had not been as affected by the battlefield wars they've led. She had been affected by the one in the Court, the one she got into by being taken as a future Lannister, Tyrell, or Lannister again. She had been affected so deeply that although the war was over, it had taken her moons and moons to stop the one inside _her_. Rickon helped more than Bran or Jon did. Bran was too wise for her, and words did not help. Jon was always only Arya's. Neither Jon or Sansa understood each other, although the love between them was always strong. But little Rickon, still a child, an emotional one at that, would always know if she needed him to grasp her from her swirling thoughts by hugging her or smiling and laughing or when she was needed to be irritated so he would be scolded and she would be distracted. He had done it so well, that after 4 moons she found Rickon to be a regular sleeper in her bed, where he would seek whatever resemblance Sansa and their mother shared, and she would seek for something good to hold onto. So his little body would be tucked underneath her chin and she would bring her arms around him, and when he felt water falling onto his head, he would hold her hands so firmly it would hurt in the best way.

After all, Sansa had not lost only half of her family, her home, her peace and herself. She had also lost the only man besides the ones she had blood connection to, to ever be kind and loving towards her. The Hound. It hurt a lot to acknowledge the emptiness caused by the tall man. It felt better, though, to know at least that affection had been pure.

The morning Jon was supposed to leave, all the Starks huddled in the smallest room there was in the castle to breakfast together. They brought blankets and lots of food and even wine and sat on the floor and laughed for hours as they have awakened earlier to spend every last moment together.

After all the food had gone away and half of the wine was shared between Jon and Sansa, the laughter began to fade.

"I'm going to send a few men away when we get somewhere in the middle of the journey." Jon said in a husky voice. He coughed.

"Where?" Sansa silently asked with understanding note in her eyes while the other two asked 'why'.

"To the forests around Harrenhall and the Twins. I wanted to search those parts for myself, but it would make no difference whoever goes, and besides, I just…" Jon trailed off, too lost in the memories of the letter with the worst news he had ever been aware of in his life. Fortunately, Bran saved him the terror of being stuck inside those memories.

"You're sending them to look for Arya." The boy (well, he was almost a man now) whispered. "You believe she's still alive."

"Ghost has felt Nymeria dozens of times." Jon said harshly, defending himself.

"You don't have to explain, I've seen Nymeria, too. I mean, we've. Summer and me." Bran frowned. His abilities were becoming a daily presence. It _was_ of some help, though.

"Shaggy Dog sometimes howls and although I can't hear any howling in return, he sometimes barks happily and howls again. It happens rarely, but it's still something." Rickon said with big, pleading eyes.

Sansa's heart broke at the thought of Rickon having his hope awakened just to be crushed again.

"I think we shouldn't rely on wolves." She said firmly as she pulled Rickon closer and underneath her own blanket. "It is nice to send someone to seek her out, but we should not rely on sentiments and hope. She's Arya. I'm sorry, but if she was alive, I think we'd know it."

"Sansa… if she is alive, then she almost certainly travels either alone or as a fugitive. She wouldn't even know any of _us_ is still alive." Bran said.

"And after all, of all of us, she's be the one I'd bet on to survive anything." Jon added.

"Dad once said," Rickon sniffed, "she and her direwolf shared the same capabilities. That must mean she can defend herself and bite bad people?"

As others agreed, Sansa was thrown off by the accuracy of Rickon's memory. She stared blankly at the top of his head as realizations came hitting.

Their direwolves must have been somehow similar to them, to their rawest nature. And as wild as Nymeria was, as capable and independent Sansa had learned the wolf was, separating from the rest whenever she was sure it was for the best, the young woman was now frightened more than ever for her younger sister.

Nymeria didn't bite. Shaggy Dog, Summer, Ghost, _even Lady_ when she was alive, would bite.

Nymeria was the only one Sansa had seen kill.

And as she looked up to see Jon staring at her, Sansa mouthed the words that kept repeating in her head.

_Nymeria doesn't bite. She kills_.

**GENDRY**

The forge was almost empty when the bells rang. Gendry's head shot up in surprise rather than shock; the war was over, both of them actually, and only one third of the Brotherhood was at their camp. When in the matter of moments, before the last bell rang, the forge turned into rattling mess of Brothers seeking for weapon and armours, Gendry calmly wiped his hands and threw on only the lightest of the armours he could find. His hammer was close enough so he was one of the first to step out in the night air.

Gendry has been all around in the last few years, the years it took to battle and calm. He had been near King's Landing with Thoros and few chosen, sneaking out Sansa Stark to take her to the hideout of her brother Jon, he had been at the Twins when the Frey's fell and their lord was killed, he had been even beyond the Wall, fighting the most chaotic of the Wildlings as the dragons and a huge army fought the White Walkers and the almost civilized number of Wildlings fought by his side. He hadn't been recognized as anyone worth Queen Cersei attention, nor had Sansa Stark noticed his staring when he tried to see any resemblance to her sister – there was only a slight similarity in the way she stared down at everyone as a defence mechanism, but Sansa Stark had a beauty in her that Arya would never be able to keep on her outer appearance. He knew Arya's ghost of mother – Lady Stoneheart, but he had never once talked to her about anything but his identity, after which he stayed away from her. It had been partially because he was so repulsed with the truth of his existence, but mostly because of the unnatural state of a both dead and living woman once called Lady Catelyn Stark.

He was one of the most trusted in the Brotherhood, keeping peace amongst drunken nights along with Thoros, although a few times it was Thoros who needed treatment (especially after Dondarrion's passing). He was a knight, a blacksmith, he was a strong bull and a silent companion in any battle, whether verbal or physical. He was a good thing for everyone in the Brotherhood. They liked his presence and survival of the wars. No one loved him but Thoros, though.

And now he was dead, too.

Gendry stood in the second row as they listened to the sound of horses and people nearing them. he was in the shadow enough not to be noticed and close enough to hear and see the majority of events to take place. He even cast a reluctant glance towards her, since he knew she was always there, her hatred and passion for blood ever present. It didn't surprise him to see her looking back at him, but as always, his skin felt colder at the sight of her unhuman eyes. He wished Thoros had less honour when he was still alive. He wished they had killed her together as they always aspired to do.

The clatter became even louder and Gendry knew from experience they were closing around the corner, when the first horse stomped into the light. A small yelp escaped a few of his companions at the sight of strong, healthy horses bearing riders from the North. Shields and armoury were lowered at almost the same moment first of them had recognized their friends.

Gendry held his hammer tight and ready to pounce just in case this was some kind of a trick, but when the first rider jumped down and took off his helmet, he instantly lessened the power which he gripped his weapon with.

"In the name of the Lord Stark of Winterfell, we were sent into a mission given to us by directly Jon Stark himself."

Gendry looked quickly to his right to see Lady Stoneheart glaring at the man and rubbing her palms. He smirked as he remembered the girl who was once this lady's daughter telling him how little fondness there was between Ned Stark's son and Ned Stark's wife for not sharing the same blood, and for the child being the constant reminder of Eddard's betrayal.

The man of the North continued: "We were not aware of your accurate location, we were only told by Lord Stark of the forest you would be in. He sent us here to see if there were any of you willing to help our mission or offer at least some information."

The current Commander (they have been changing too fast since Thoros' death for Gendry to remember the names) stepped up and spoke with a tiny bit of mockery in his voice. This man was not of Gendry's good affection. He did not think the man had deserved as high position as he had gained. He did not believe he would present the Brotherhood well.

"You seek for help without giving any explanation on what it's needed for. An information you also require might need some clearance before we can say anything."

The men behind the one who spoke in Stark's name began to mutter unhappily. There were around 50 of them, and Gendry could hardly believe they were anyone but Jon's most trusted. This must have been an important matter.

"We have better manners than to discuss Lord Stark's problems in open with many ears able to hear what was not meant for them." the soldier said, gritting his teeth and forcing politeness.

"Then let us head for a better place, a closed place, with less ears unworthy of this mission." Said the man next to Commander. Commander gave him a sharp glare but did not speak, and the man did not bother playing ashamed. A good lad, this was, although his hair was partially white and his voice was older than most.

In the inn he had visited on the first day he met the Brotherhood, when he still had a girl pretending to be a boy by his side, Gendry was a part of the small bundle of men discussing the mission. He was not sure why anyone would choose him to be a part of the discussion, but his identity was not a secret, at least not to the Brotherhood, and the man who spoke instead of the Commander sounded rather hasty for him to join them. He saw a knowing spark in the older man's eyes, and could judge the man had a good guess on why the Winterfell's most trusted were with them that night.

He learned soon the man's name was Remmer and he was in Brotherhood's service for almost 20 years. He named all the present (there were only 7 of the Brothers) and asked for the names of the soldiers.

"Hold on, you've said everyone's full names except of the smith's." As soon as the North's soldier pointed that out, a weird irony presented itself to Gendry; 7 of the new Gods, seven of the Brothers, and Gendry was a smith. "Sounds a bit misty I'd reckon. If you wouldn't mind?"

"Gendry Waters." The smith said when Remmer gave him a questioning glance.

"Pardon me, I cannot always remember everyone's names." Remmer smiled. Gendry knew this wasn't the truth though; Remmer was wordlessly asking him to choose how he would be known – but Gendry was never legitimized, and there was no reason for him to state he was a Baratheon even if he wanted to be. Which he wasn't sure of.

"All right, well, we'd better get to the thing." Serwyn, which was the name of the first soldier, sighed and leaned his elbows on their table. There were only three of the soldiers; the rest were sent to catch some sleep. "You're probably all familiar with the names and fates of each and every child the Starks have had."

Remmer nodded. "Five of the Starks left only."

Serwyn raised his eyebrows. "I'd reckon the last time I saw them it was four. Lord Jon, Lady Sansa, and their two brothers, Bran and Rickon."

"What of Lady Arya?"

"She's our mission, Ser, missing since Eddard Stark was beheaded."

Gendry felt his heart falter for a second; Arya wasn't in Winterfell. Arya never came home. How had he never wondered if she's there? His mind was certain on her safety and survival – she was to go to the Wall one day, see Jon, and go back to Winterfell. It was her plan (well, not counting the murders she planned) as well. "Arya escaped King's Landing and passed through this camp, but we haven't heard of her since."

Serwyn looked at Gendry like he was shocked the boy had a voice. "That's new."

"_New_?", Gendry asked with little kindness, "She passed here 5 years ago!"

"Boy." Remmer warned him. He turned towards the soldiers. "He is right, though, the girl was our guest for a while."

"Do you know where she went?" Serwyn asked with a glint of hope in his eyes, and Gendry's stomach flipped. No, they didn't know, because she disappeared after a small fight with him of all the people.

"She was planning on returning to Winterfell, that's for sure." Remmer sighed. "I'm not the one to ask about the details, but I know that was the end for her as she planned it. Everyone knew that."

Serwyn's jaw clenched and his muddy eyes reversed their attention towards Gendry. Coldly, he said: "And you, boy?"

Gendry was shocked for the first time since the war. "What me, Ser?"

"Are you to be asked about 'er in more detail?"

Gendry shared a quick look with Remmer, who nodded. Gendry was not even sure why he was seeking Remmer's allowance, for these were the good ones. Good men. Winterfell's, Stark's and Arya's men. "I was, erm, to say her companion till we reached the camp."

"Companion? Not something more I dare say, or Lord Stark will – "

"No, no, no, Ser, I assure you, she pretended to be a boy for the whole trip to be safer from danger."

"Were you the danger?" Serwyn teased, with only a little honest curiosity in his words.

"No, Ser, I knew she was a girl."

"How?"

Gendry stared at him in annoyance and disbelief. "How?! Ser, you might not know me, but one thing I'm not is stupid!"

Serwyn looked at Remmer to check if any anger had risen, but Remmer was as calm as possible. "I'd put that to questioning."

After the men had laughed enough and Gendry gave them a few forced smiles, Serwyn continued.

"So what of your companionship then? Are you to be of any help for us or do you have nothing?"

Gendry swallowed when he realized how stupid he truly was. He couldn't help but feel the blood drain from his face. If there was any stupidity in guessing she was safe for all these years, this was million times worse. He realized there would be nothing good after he gave them his answer.

"Arya was planning on joining her mother and brother's army."

"What do you mean – she never got to them! She couldn't have! There was no notice – "

"By the Seven." Remmer's whisper cut off Serwyn's shouting. The horrified look on the man's face was equal to Gendry's. The other men began to realize just as he whispered again. "The Red Wedding."

Gendry had never missed Arya's insults more than that moment.

**ARYA**

She hadn't had a single drop of water on her skin for almost three days. Her breaths were short and shallow and her eyes saw no better than they would in the dark. Her skin was rough and her lips were painful. She couldn't move quiet if the Old Gods ordered her to. Not that she would have any reason to listen to them anyway.

She was tired, though.

She sighed as she sat down and leaned against a tree. She should have known running off into woods just because she heard a wolf didn't mean it was Nymeria or that she could find her way back. Even if she could, her luck wouldn't be any better. The river she was heading for was almost two days walk from the place on the road she had last been on.

Those were her sloppy, slow thoughts as she closed her eyes to try to think whether she would let herself die or think of solutions.

_What do we say to the God of Death?_

She opened her eyes and groaned in effort of pushing herself up to her feet.

"That 'e sh – should better o' send some water" she slurred over her words.

_Be patient. Use your senses._

That she did.

It took her almost a whole day to find the river, but once she did, it seemed half of her sickness was taken away by the lone sight of it.

Afterword, she would know it had been a miracle for her to survive almost 4 days without water, but for Arya Stark of Winterfell who was no longer the girl she was when someone last called her that (around 5 years ago), stranger things have happened.

As soon as she knew she could stand straight and bear the weight of her own body, she stripped her dirty clothes off. She had to wear even more layers now than ever before, because her age seemed to bring out that she wasn't a boy at all. It didn't matter in the last few moons though, because her body had lost almost all there ever was of the meat on her bones, and the only thing that could lead anyone to thinking she could be a girl was the hair she hadn't cut in two years, now coming down almost to the middle of her back. It was thin, dry and suddenly Arya was struck with the thought of her appearance being more of a Wildling one than any other person's in Westeros.

She huffed in annoyance and slid into the water. She was still too weak to swim or let the current take her, so she held onto the ground above her as the waves crashed in.

She had to get her strength back – she had to gain some weight and find a way to King's Landing, where she would find that pig Baelish and get the burden of his life away from everyone's back.

He was the only one she wanted to kill right now, and there were three reasons (which she had learned by being invisible near to drunken men and women and their gossips) each more selfish than the other:

1 – no one was able to find him although he kept mocking them with traces of his presence in the capitol itself – she was certain it was her, with all the training and knowledge of the city who would be able to find him;

2 – he plucked into everything that could have went right and made it wrong, and above all, thought he deserved Catelyn Tully more than Ned Stark even when she herself became a Stark;

3 – he was a bad, bad person who could only do more harm.

Arya had only been back from the Free Cities and instead of seeking out her family who she had not seen for over 5 years, she was jumping into the cruellest act she could have mustered up. But Arya was angry, and in the time she was away, each they had stripped away something of her that belonged to Starks. It was her only hope that once she satisfied her need for vengeance and blood of those who deserved death more than anyone, she would be able to calm herself and go back to her wild, peaceful North, where her family would be complete once again, and Jon would never go back to the Wall, and Father would never leave them for the honour and duty, and Bran wouldn't fall of that tower because no one would push him anywhere where his sister wouldn't catch him.

Arya Stark had become delusional, and as the process of madness took over her poor soul, she was even more dangerous than she ever was.

She had been by the river for two days, scrubbing her clothes clean, hunting and eating more than she ever had, wanting to regain as much energy as she could; she ate 5 squirrels and 2 rabbits in those two days. She found leaves she could boil and plants with juices Maester Luwin praised as healthy for hear and skin. She found everything she needed to make the potion and wash herself with it. She did all she could to get herself away from the Wildling's looks. In the end, she pulled the ends of her hair in front of her eyes to see it was regaining some of its natural, strong, dark colour and firmness. Her skin felt smoother once she had rubbed it with potion and water so many times her lip started bleeding at the effort she was chewing on it in annoyance. Her clothes now only looked old and boyish, but she could hide her hair under a cap and walk with slumped shoulders so no one (even though she doubted she would meet anyone soon) could even guess there were breasts on her chest, no matter how small.

She continued walking up the river she knew would lead her to another which would lead her to the road for King's Landing. It took her almost a full moon to get to the road, but by then, she had eaten so much meat she was stronger than she was maybe even during her time in Braavos, and she hoped she would also get some fat on herself soon, too. That would make her more secure for the times that could easily happen, when she wouldn't be able to hunt much or find anything to eat.

When she came to the road, she decided to stay behind the trees whenever she heard the clattering of horse shoes, and wait till she saw what kind of a person would come by. She had decided, although she was more than disgusted by the idea of pretending to be so unintelligent, that if she saw a good chance, she would straighten her back and take the hair out of the cap and make herself seen as a poor, lost girl. Probably robbed, too, so the person would take her with them wherever she wanted.

It just so happened that her plan worked almost as soon as she figured it out; she was walking down the road for less than an hour, when she heard a horse. She saw a man with a carriage in which his little daughters were placed, motherless and poor, and of course, the kind man had enough compassion to let her accompany them as far as she wanted. He was heading for King's Landing, too, so Arya was as happy as she could've been.

She had a nice chat with the children, who brought a rare smile with only pure thoughts upon her face, and the girls looked up at her and stared. Upon asking what was wrong, the youngest, only 5 at the time, explained with no restriction.

"You are very pretty, miss."

She had never thought anything like such words would ever bring tears, but Arya became more broken in every way possible, so it wasn't a big shock to sense wetness in her eyes. She had not let them slip, of course, but this was the first time she had talked to a child without being one herself, and she realized that not every girl in the world was so bad – as children, they were so naïve, innocent and beautiful in everything _and_ the looks.

Maybe it was all the years she had spent yearning for revenge, maybe it was that she wasn't a child anymore, but being told she was pretty for once hadn't made Arya Stark feel mocked or unworthy. It made her feel pleasant.

The warmness inside her lasted until they were less than half a league away from King's Landing, when from the inside of the carriage, three females were shocked by a roar louder than any sound they have ever heard.

Looking out, Arya was as frightened as she ever could have been.

"_Dragons_."

**A/N (once again)** _- Reminding you to review if you had managed to put up with my words till the end! Whether it's positive or negative, your comment on this would either make my day or save any other poor souls from reading a rotten fanfiction. I don't mind, as long as you give this a chance._


	2. Nymeria

**A/N** _Thank you so much for the reviews! You've certainly made me write this chapter faster than convenient, so forgive my soul for possible grammar errors and stupid sentences and so on. All in all, I'm much happier with the first chapter, but as this one is also just the introduction to the real plot, I hope you won't mind. Keep reviewing, I could get better with a few of your remarks and notions. Thank you so much once again, enjoy!_

_**ARYA**_

Arya's faithful companions Serah and Geena ran for their father as soon as the end of the road was reached. In front of the gates, along with them, stood a few men with children in their hands, waiting for the Queen that promised her presence. They were homeless since the war and had taken many moons to travel there, mostly on foot, with their orphan children in hands.

Serah ran for her father as soon as she stepped out of the carriage, but Geena stayed back and 'helped' Arya get out. For the sake of her brothers whom were still children in her mind, she pretended she needed the help. Then, Geena smiled and turned around to run for her father.

_Now is your chance_. Syrio's voice whispered in her ear and wind threw her hair up. Only it wasn't wind, it was the dragons, two of them circling around and around the city. Why they weren't locked in somewhere or why hadn't they at least escaped given the opportunity, Arya couldn't even guess.

"Now is my chance…", Arya slowly whispered, bringing her eyes to the gates again. She could see the nervousness in everyone's eyes, expecting the Queen, she could see the easiest way into the city ever – just a few steps away to the left and she's be hidden by rocks before being able to walk into the cave that would safely lead her to the Red Keep. But Arya, as clever she was, thought this might not be needed. She could be brought into the city by the man who had helped her come this far, already.

Also, she really wanted to see this Mother of Dragons.

The unnerving atmosphere reached its peak before a soldier stood up and started yelling, silencing even breaths of the villagers.

"Her Higness, Daenerys Stormborn Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, Queen of the… "

Arya saw everyone fall down on their knees so she followed their example, a little reluctantly, though. The soldier kept reciting the titles of Daenerys Targaryen and reminded Arya of the part she had always hated the most in her studies. _Manners_. Like hell they were - being able to share your bread with someone or notice their pain and try to help them were bigger manners than these.

But her irritated thoughts were abruptly cut off as she saw the Targaryen Queen reach the gates.

Arya Stark felt her blood boil, her hands twitch, her mouth go dry as she tried to suck in air that started running low in her lungs.

Daenerys Targaryen, silver haired, violet eyed, short but so royal in her poise, had the most gorgeous appearance and the hardest glare Arya had ever seen.

Above all, she was the first person in years to remind Arya of what it meant to belong to a certain House, to wear it proudly, to have your own responsibilities. If she stepped up now, announcing herself as Arya Stark, the lost daughter of her dead parents, would this queen believe her or give her a chance to be questioned?

Arya looked closely at her face as the Queen brushed her eyes all the way through the people. She saw deeply planted effects take power in the violet storm in her eyes. This queen was called kind – and kind she was, for she had only asked the most important questions before ushering the men with sick children not only into the city, but into her castle. She had asked only a little more before letting the rest go inside the city.

Yes. She would give Arya a chance.

It took her only a moment to recoil – if she was to become a Stark lady again, never more could she find a way to kill the one she was here for.

"Present me as your niece, I beg you!" she hissed to the man beside her, and his daughters gave her a surprised glance before remembering where the Queen's attention was turning to now.

"Rise." Said the Queen. Her eyes took in the 4 people in front of her, their carriage, and lastly, returned to Arya with something too conspicuous in her eyes to make the girl feel safe or good for choosing this method of entrance. "What is your business in the city?"

"Your Highness, we come from a destroyed home, from their murdered mother and my wife, and we beg of you to let us live inside the best, safest place. I wish nothing more but safety for my daughters." He took his daughters' hands in his at both sides. Geena almost laughed and beside her, Arya did all she could not to let the maniacal laughter burst out too. This was the nervous effect – laughter.

"And you, what is your business here?"

Arya felt her heart drop as her eyes met Queen's. She was right – there was something off in the Queen's eyes when she studied Arya's face.

"Our cousin's husband Ronell was killed. She stayed with us since then." Serah suddenly said in her high voice.

"Yes, my Queen, my niece, she's been a victim in all of this, too." the man said to cover his daughter's lie. In front of Arya, Geena truly giggled.

"Everyone has been a victim." The Queen stated. "But your fortune has been very bad and your luck just might have been enough for letting your daughters live, allowing you to have something to live for, too."

The man could only stare at the Queen, waiting for the decision.

"It is of no problem," the Queen smiled. "to let you through these gates. And please, if you are in no state to find a place for yourself, come to me and I'll give you all the help you should need."

"My Queen!" the man fell to his knew once again, and Geena tucked her head under his arms and wiped away a few stray tears, all the while giggling. "Thank you so much!"

The Queen nodded and looked up once again. Arya stood on the same place still, staring at the queen with unblinking eyes. She knew her safety was yet not determined, as Serah's explanation was nowhere near enough for the woman. But instead of falling to her knees and thanking her with all she could, Arya's silly brain took an unexpected twist and words fell from her mouth without slightest hesitation.

"Why are your dragons free?"

The man's body stiffened and the girls looked shocked, but the Queen's lips quirked up, as if Arya's question gave her the answer she hoped for.

"Because everyone is free in my Kingdom." The Queen spoke. "And of all of them, my dragons are the safest creatures in this city. People are far more terrible."

Arya slightly nodded and smiled up at the dragons. "Let us hope your reign would purify the souls in the Kingdom, my Queen. Your dragons are beautiful."

The Queen smiled and thanked before asking, "What is your name?"

Arya was not a completely rare name, and she had never tried using some other name since she doubted there would be any recognition in the eyes of whomever she was trying to fool. But now, with Queen's gaze so careful and years passed since she had heard of her siblings, Arya couldn't bring the courage, or stupidity, to say her real name.

"Jeyne." She said silently. "My name is Jeyne."

The Queen looked only a little bit disappointed, but it seemed her curiosity was still taking hold. Maybe Arya couldn't lie well enough.

_You could never lie as well as you could never take a piss in front o' me!_

As the Queen turned around to leave, Arya exhaled sharply at the words of the last friend she had ever lost (or had) turned up in her head. Stupid words, stupid bull.

**GENDRY**

Gendry wasn't quite sure which of the two possible reasons had brought him along with Lord Stark's men into the mission of finding the most unfindable person in Westeros: his own guilt, or the other men thinking he had done a crime and this was the punishment.

Punishment, in Gendry's eyes, would have been for him to stay at the camp after everything he's done. Even though he knew there was no way to find her, as this was the last place for her to be at, he still had to do something on the matter.

"Oi boy, no ideas?" Serwyn shouted at him from the front. Gendry rolled his eyes and tapped his horse's mane.

"One!" he shouted back. "Get off the bloody horses!"

Serwyn wouldn't respond and Gendry was as mad as he could be. Arya was the last person to stay on any kind of a path, or to even try sticking her head out when she heard horses coming her way.

The Brotherhood had sent 20 men along with Stark's 50, and although the northern soldiers weren't exactly satisfied, the Brothers had a lack of men in their rows, too, hence the majority of them spilling around Westeros, helping in the Queen's cause.

Almost a moon after they left the camp, one night Gendry sat down next to a half-drunk Serwyn with a wineskin in his hands. Taking the wineskin to taste the liquid himself, Gendry finally asked the questions he was bothered with for the past moon.

"What are Lord Stark's orders? To search all of Westeros before returning to Winterfell?"

"Boy – " Serwyn gave him an irritated glare with eyes barely seeing.

"Tell me!"

"None o' yer business, but well, Jon Stark had already searched the majority of Westeros. The areas we're supposed to see through are forests and fields and villages and so on around the Twins and Harrenhall." The soldier grunted before tumbling down to ground. He lay on his back and didn't open his eyes anymore.

Gendry had trouble sleeping these days. His memory kept going back to the girl he helped be lost, and since their memories were all much like the trip he was having now, he couldn't do a single thing without being reminded of her.

Before the two of them and Hot Pie had come to Harrenhall she had not been able to sleep through a night without waking up 10 times with one of her brother's names on her lips, or even more often, her father's. Once she had woken up with her mother's name, gasping out for air, and that was the closest he had seen her come to crying, curling into a ball with the most painful expression he had seen any human ever make. She hadn't ever said her sister's name during her nightmares, but after some time, she would tell him a few stories of the beautiful lady in exchange for his stories of childhood, poor memories of his mother, Thobo Mott and a few fights he had won or lost. They mostly talked about these things after her nightmares when he would wake up too, and Hot Pie would just snore louder.

He hadn't thought of it that way when he decided to stay with the Brotherhood instead of continuing their trip together, but the two of them were friends. _She_ was the best friend he ever had. No one would stay so long to listen to him talking about his mother's yellow hair or the times he made almost perfect swords; no one would come back for more of these stories after they had a fight and he's called her things she thought were horrible; no one could have as witty comebacks as she had; no one would be so angry because he was leaving her, too.

She's told him a lot, too. About her beautiful, smart direwolf, about her father's honour and laughter and good decisions, about her mother's and Sansa's constant nagging about lady-things, about Robb who was good but childish, Jon whom she loved more than anything or anyone, Bran who was wiser than any of them even as he was almost the youngest, Rickon who was an annoying brat who was also the smartest baby to ever torture her or make her smile, and lastly, she told him of Winterfell.

So the few nights he actually could catch some sleep, Gendry would dream of grey sky, green fields, soft, chilling breeze, laughter of 6 children and shouting of one woman, with another man's soothing whispers and rocks of the castle he could never completely see.

Gendry now wished he had never left her – he wished they had seen Winterfell together.

He was looking for wood when he heard something behind him.

He thought it was one of his companions coming to help, so he didn't bother with turning around or speaking up.

But then he heard slow, guttural noise no human could make, and blood in his veins turned to ice.

He held the branches he had already picked up and slowly turned around to be met with something he had never seen before, but what has visited his dreams for thousands of times.

Nymeria.

He knew it was her by the colour of her eyes and fur Arya had taken so much time to describe, and now he was only inches away from those huge orbs. He was also inches away from her teeth, and if her eyes had not been as sad as they were, he would have screamed. But the wolf, now taller than him, didn't move, but only stare at him like it was waiting for something.

Knowing there was no escape if she was to kill him, he decided to give his best shot.

Gendry Baratheon must have truly been a fool, a mad, brave fool, for his one hand raised up in front of the bloody huge direwolf and he slowly brought it down to the grey fur.

She didn't move. She actually whined, though.

Gendry began scrubbing her behind her ears, ice and fear still present in his veins, but he was mostly surprised. Arya had never said Nymeria was the kindest direwolf of the 6, in fact, she was a little weary at noting how aggressive she knew her pet could be if anyone tried to harm her owner.

After the initial shock had pulled its fangs back, and Nymeria was lay down with her head on her front paws, napping as he leaned into her, still caressing her fur, Gendry started feeling pain and nostalgia.

He had Nymeria so close, and that meant Arya hasn't found her in all those years. Whether it meant Arya was dead or somewhere across the see, he wouldn't guess, but the sole state of the animal in front of him made it clear from the first moment Arya was nowhere near. Seven hells, if she was anywhere in these woods, Nymeria would have found her scent and be there instead of here.

Which brought him to another conclusion – there must have been something of Arya's on him Nymeria has recognized. Or maybe they were connected so Nymeria had seen him with Arya 5 years ago – no, that wouldn't be it.

But what was it?

Nymeria's head was suddenly pulled up from her paws, her eyes open and awake, and it took Gendry a few moments to hear the noise, too.

His fists clenched on direwolf's fur as his blood boiled at the sound of fighting.

He turned his head around to look at Nymeria and whispered: "Stay here."

He hadn't realized how much despair was in him to hold onto her until his voice sounded like a stranger's. He patted Nymeria's head once more as she whined for him in response and then he was up and running.

It took him more than he wished it would to come to their clearing, and by then, the noises were over. His men lay in puddles of blood and limbs, their horses were gone and everything they had destroyed.

He sank to his knees beside Serwyn's head on the ground and wished he was here with them when the enemies came.

Out of seventy men, he was the coward that survived.

Nymeria came as he was rummaging through the things in search for food or flasks for water. He heard her but couldn't turn around – he was angry and sad and hopeless – hopeless in finding Arya, hopeless in coming back to the Brotherhood he knew would feel like he was a traitor, hopeless in knowing his identity, and he was no Baratheon, he was no brave fool, he was a slow coward who couldn't come in time to die honourably with his men.

When she whined just a few steps away from him, he turned around to see her sniffing at the bodies.

His heart dropped at the sight of blood and the sight of her ribs and state of fur.

He knew he would hate himself for this, but he also knew there was no reason to stop her.

"Nymeria." She raised her head towards him and tears started rolling down his cheeks. "Eat."

He didn't know if Arya had taught her to understand humans or if it had come on its own with her survival, but Nymeria understood his words and wasted no time before digging in.

Gendry took the things he had found and walked in the opposite way of which he knew the Brotherhood was at. Tears stopped as soon as the noises of Nymeria's feast dissolved, and when she joined him an hour later, he ignored the blood on her fur and patted her head when she leaned in.

**ARYA**

"Whose name would you shriek when your last breath escapes your mouth? Cat? Sansa? Mm?"

Lord Petyr Baelish breathed heavily, his face smudged with blood, his head kicking the wall behind his head before he licked his lips to answer. "Maybe I'll scream _your_ name, Lady Stark."

"I am no lady." Arya hissed and poked his leg with her stolen sword, so he scrunched his face in pain and pulled further into the shadows against the wall.

She had found him after moon and a half, and took her revenge slowly in one of the secret passages bellow the Court. He though keeping inside these dark, unknown walls would save him from punishment he would meet above the ground and irritate its residents. He was wrong – as long as Arya lived, none would go unpunished.

"You, my dear, are and – unless you'd like to live your days beside me or my corpse once you're done with my poor soul, will always be a lady." Even facing the death, Baelish had been so disgusting to tease the bringer of it with all he had.

"But that won't matter to you." Arya said. Her smile was twisted by the light and darkness, a shadow game she loved for allowing her place in torturing this poor excuse of a man. "I just want you to see who's taking your life away. I wanted you to hear the words you ran from your whole fucking life. Catelyn was a Stark, through and through, and she never loved you a bit." When he cringed, she continued. "Sansa might be of some resemblance in her appearance to the woman you cowardly, selfishly loved. But what makes them most similar is the way Sansa, just like Catelyn, would never be anything but disgusted at the thought of your lips touching her skin. She would never share her life with the pig you are, she could never cherish you or anything you gave her."

Baelish kept his words to himself, staring into Arya's eyes with numbness she knew he was faking. In the paleness of his wrists and cheeks and the vein pulsing on his neck, she knew he hated her more than anything in the world. And the thought brought her joy.

"Decide whether you'll scream my mother's or my sister's name, or if you'll just scream and cry with no words in it, because that'll be last sound Petyr fuckin Baelish would ever make."

Arya Stark raised the sword she had stolen, and bringing it down, felt relief flow through her veins.

Lord Baelish trembled and twitched before only a gasp escaped his lips, a gasp forming one short name.

"_Cat_."

In the morning, city guards would find the limp, stinking body of Petyr Baelish in front of the gates. Till then, without knowing her beloved brother was left behind her, Arya Stark was riding a horse already 50 leagues from the city.

Arya's restless trip was accompanied by the weird feeling of joy and relief, sadness and coping. She had finally put away the list in her head, the list that was to be the one of dead people. She cringed at the correction of that thought; the list that now was of dead people.

She rode her horse for two days before it started complaining at her orders, so by the night, while she was passing by an inn, she stopped the horse and pulled it by the other animals, near water and food. Then, putting her old cap on and hiding her hair beneath it, she shrugged a long, thick coat over her shoulders and walked into the inn.

She hated herself for it, but while she was still in King's Landing, she stole money to have enough for her return to Winterfell: she was going home, of course. Not daring to think or hope about it further, since there was still a long way to go, she buried herself in wine (she hadn't loved it, but had learned to tolerate it for the sake of her boy part) and food. Then, retiring into a dark corner, she drank the rest of her wine as she listened to the whispers and gossips. The wine became lovelier the longer she drank it. It was turning into a habit; you drink much and the drunker you get, less it matters if the taste is good for you.

She missed the little girls, what were their names… Serah and Geena! Yes, she missed them. she had known them for barely a day before leaving them behind, but they've still grown some fondness into her heart. Arya didn't want to stick around them, for she knew it would have only been dangerous, but she had, every now and then, stuck her head out of the secret corridors to spy on the girls, see if they're happy. From what she had caught, they were happier than they would have been anywhere else.

Now, with alcohol in her veins, numbness in her limbs, the whispers seemed louder and she let go of emotions to hear the latest news. She practically eliminated all the whisper without importance to her, until she was able to find a few she could have some use in.

"…they say he ain't goin' back, and I wouldn't either if I were him, havin' that pretty lil' Queen on me side…"

Arya couldn't decode the next few muttered words, but all the men at that table laughed so she presumed it was something pervert and vulgar. Pigs.

"I 'eard he's still goin' back y'know, to the Wall. Once ya take yer black, there ain't no comin' back, and the bloody bastard is at least that much honourable…"

The Wall. Bastard. Arya shut her eyes firmly. It could've been just an insult, could've been any other man from the Wall…

"Right, as long as he's got some of the Stark blood, he ain't throwin' away his duty and honour. Bloody morons. The Wall before the women and warmth! I couldn't imagine…"

But this was enough for Arya. She abruptly stood up, swaying on her legs with – fortunately – no one noticing her, walked out without turning around and took her horse to the nearest forest, finding the best, safest place she could sleep on, and stared up at the sky with her horse tied firmly beside her.

Jon Snow. With the Queen.

No, it was worse than that.

Arya's _brother_ was with the most dangerous person in Westeros – the Mother of Dragons.

She sighed and let the darkness devour her, as she fell asleep instead of feeling frustrated and angered. She was too tired at the moment. She was too tired, exhausted, to let the pain catch up with her once again. So what if Jon wanted to fuck the weird blond? So what if she'd do anything to keep him from taking the Black – Arya was almost certain Jon wouldn't be so easily persuaded in leaving the North, and once his little sister got back… well, she believed Jon wouldn't go as far away from her as South is, not ever again.

With soothing thoughts to herself, she fell asleep.

She dreamt of a forest, slowly moving inside it, unhappy with the lack of speed and the loud noises the human beside her made. Like his breathing wasn't enough, he had to go on and step on every tree twig there was. She growled in annoyance and wished he would just get on her back and stop the noise. Yes, she hated the thought of being mounted, but what she hated even more was being defenceless.

"I've got no clue where you're taking me, but it better off be somewhere nice and filled with food and wine." The human beside her spoke and she gave him an irritated growl.

"All right now, calm y'self, I'm only bored with no one to talk to but a bloody wolf. Y'know, I wouldn't be here with you unless you looked like you have some idea of where we're heading. I really hope you do, y'know." The human made an irritated sound, a groan, and fell down to grass. "Oh, c'mon! I'm tired! Nymeria, come back!"

Arya felt dread upon hearing the man speak the name of her direwolf, which she had only began to feel conscious of now. She had never before been aware of her presence in Nymeria's mind, and it was a new, difficult to maintain, experience.

As soon as he had used her name, Nymeria whined a bit, but still turned back and walked to him before falling down with her head in his lap.

That was when Arya woke up in shock, her head still echoing with the man's laughter when he reached out to pet _her_ wolf's head.

What was more important, was Nymeria's obvious obedience toward someone who wasn't Arya.

And what was the _most_ important, was the fact that she had recognized the man, if not his voice which had turned lower during the years, Nymeria was so good to.

There wouldn't be a moment in her life when Arya would not recognize the bluest eyes in the world and darkest hair of all the Houses to belong to Gendry Waters.

Gendy was with her Nymeria.

**JON**

Jon was in his chamber when the guards stumbled in, shortly announcing her Majesty before she stormed in, shutting the door closed with a loud thud.

Her expression was as furious, frustrated and confused as it could have been, her chest rising heavily as she scrambled for air and words, her cheeks flushed and her hands shaking.

If she had been his family or his friend for long enough, he would have approached her, took her by her hands and calmly asked for her to make peace with herself before telling him off the urgency.

But the Queen of all the Westeros was hardly anyone's friend, and even with the wish he had kept so secret, even from himself, for her to someday be his family, he would never allow that to them in right mind.

"My Queen." He bowed his head and looked at her with concern. "May I ask what trouble brought you here?"

"Yes!" she snapped. "I'm sorry, my Lord, but it is a trouble indeed." She took a deep breath before stepping closer, which he was sure she had done unconsciously, and looked up at him with most worried eyes. "I haven't dared speaking of this to you before, and now I find it to be a mistake."

She seemed to struggle with words before continuing, and Jon inclined his head as if to give her his allowance to tell him everything.

"Almost two moons ago, when I was doing business at the gates, seeing through with the guards which of the people outside would be allowed inside the city, I have caught sight of a woman, well, almost a woman perhaps, that made my mind go into a silent debate on the matter of her similarity with you, my Lord."

"Arya!" Jon gasped and approached the Queen, grabbing her hand. "What happened?!"

The Queen reluctantly looked at her arm, seized by his big fist, before he realized his mistake and let go of her, stepping back. She looked rather red in her cheeks once again, and Jon only muttered "Forgive me, my Queen.", before she shook her head and ignored his action.

"She presented herself to me as Jeyne. I asked for no more, as I wasn't sure why her appearance had struck me so. You know, I didn't realize at the exact moment who she had reminded me of."

Daenerys sighed and Jon tried keeping himself calm. He knew she was giving him all she knew, but he still couldn't hear the story fast enough. "The people she had come with, a man and two small girls, had claimed her as their cousin, and I let them through. Now, there is another event that took hold just this morning, and led me to believe this girl I've seen had, in fact, been your lady sister."

"What happened?" Jon muttered. Had she killed someone?

Daenerys Targaryen, not the Queen or the Protector of the Realm, but his friend, looked at him with frowning look. "Lord Petyr Baelish was discovered dead in front of the city gates early this morning. With no trace of the… murderer… or his previous hideout."

"But?" Jon croaked. Daenerys lightly put her small hand on his elbow.

"His skin…" she shuddered. "On his forehead, three words were craved in."

Jon couldn't make himself speak up, and as the next words left the woman's mouth, he forced himself to sit back down into his chair.

"'_For the Starks_.'"

**GENDRY**

He was already awake, stroking Nymeria's fur as she slept, when she jerked up and started whining.

"What's wrong, girl? Bad dreams?" he patted her on the neck, but she only whined ore and stood up, ushering him to stand up too by pushing him up with her huge head. "Oh – okay, okay now, calm yourself!"

But Nymeria took a circle around him, still whimpering as she ran, before she started barking.

"What's wrong, what do you want?" Gendry recoiled at an idea hitting his mind. "Have you dreamt of her? Have you seen her?!"

Nymeria silenced herself and slowly walked towards him, nuzzling herself into his neck. She was too big, and he was too frustrated, so he pushed her away before taking her whole head in his hands, leaning into her eyes. "Have you seen Arya?"

Nymeria whimpered and done something he couldn't have expected her to ever do – she quickly fell to the ground, crawling between his legs, before she got up and crashed him down her head and neck onto her back, where he had to grab her fur not to fall down. "What in the Seven hells do you think you're doing?!" he screamed as she started running.

It took him some time, fear and shock blocking his moves, but Gendry had managed to pull himself into a sitting position on her back, grabbing the fur of her neck instead of horse reins, and trusted her to take him wherever was the best for them, or even where he had not let his heart hope to go – to Arya.

It would be too much to have, and he didn't think it was something he deserved, at all. He had been just the stupid bull Arya had always called him, and he didn't even realize how selfish he acted for staying with the Brotherhood. He put her in so much danger, and now to have it all whisked away just as he realized his mistake – who could ask for such luck, such miracle? And since last years must have been worse than all the Seven Hells would've been for her, maybe Arya herself would be a punishment enough for him.

Gendry buried his head deep in Nymeria's long fur, thinking of how he was riding a direwolf – thinking of how half the good people in the world have been murdered, and almost everyone left was missing. He thought suddenly, how he had never hugged Arya Stark, only coming close the few times he had to restrain her from jumping into a fight. He remembered the way she looked all those years ago, steel strong and powerful, and how he wasn't sure if he liked her personality as if she was his idol, or if it was all a fascination he could have felt towards any woman – something alike to what a man and a woman sometimes feel towards each other, but Arya was too young and too distant, and he never let those thoughts come on surface.

Now he wondered if she had fought him as hard as she had because something similar happened in her head, too, if she had been so angry when she found out he wouldn't go further with her because she would've missed him…

No. She was Arya, and the only emotion she felt was fury.

Wherever you were, if you have ever done anything against Arya Stark, you'd know she'd come for you, a fury on the way.

He laughed into Nymeria's fur in the irony –_ Fury is coming._

As she ran and ran, the night changed the day and it already started to light up when she finally slowed down, sneaking through the thick forest in all the silence she possessed. Gendry held on tightly as he acknowledged sounds and possible danger coming towards them.

Just as the first stray of sun broke through the sky, Nymeria jumped up and a scared horse raised on two legs, screaming in protest and shaking off his rider that fell down with less of a sound they should've, rolling on the ground before jumping up suddenly more gracefully than Gendry thought any person could.

That was until he noticed the colour of the rider's hair and a wild look combined with grey eyes.

Gendry jumped from Nymeria with more bravery he thought he had, ushering the wolf forward as the girl cried out in surprise, jumping into her friend's side as the wolf fell down and put her paws around the girl's shaky back. Nymeria's whimpers sounded happier than Gendry had heard them for the time she spent with him, and when she looked up at him with wide eyes, Gendry could swear the girl wasn't wearing an angry look in her eyes, but a grateful one.

"I don't know how… o-or why… but thank you."

Arya Stark smiled weakly before burying her head back into Nymeria's fur.

**A/N** _I love Nymeria, but I think she's acted like too much of a softie towards Gendry... or has she? Maybe she knew him all along... Anyway, this is a fiction about Gendrya, so the action takes on from the next chapter. I hope you've enjoyed this one, I'll try to upload in two days, I'm going away in a few hours (that's part of the reason why I was in such a rush with this chapter). Use telepathy if you wish to understand how important reviews are!_


	3. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**I would not keep this long, but I have not uploaded in almost two weeks so I feel highly responsible to at least ask for a little tolerance.**

**I have a hard time with my abusive parents and writing is what helps the most, but I cannot be allowed to any computer for days sometimes.**

**I'll try to upload the next chapter within a day or a bit more, and I am very sorry for any further late uploads.**

**A big thank you in advance!**


	4. A Concerning Hope

**A/N**_ I am very sorry for this late upload, but things weren't going very smoothly in my private life (in my defence). I hope you'll still enjoy reading this, very much shorter chapter. It had to be short to be uploaded though, but I promise to write a longer one sooner than this one took to be uploaded._

_I will ask, though, for at least two to three reviews to make sure I'm not getting myself into probable trouble for nothing._

**Summary**: _The Starks finally meet a hope to see their sister alive, and Arya and Gendry join in making way for the North._

**SANSA**

The Lady of Winterfell had never been the one to take faith in the Old Gods before. She preferred her mother's choice in religion. Now, as she happened to stand in front of the old face in the Godswood, she felt calm and safe the way the Seven had never made her feel. Ever since the war, she has been more like her dead father than her mother. Even her appearance, a wholly Tully look, gave away a note of nobleness, wisdom and justice Eddard Stark harboured in his life.

She neared the tree and rested her hand upon the ground beneath. She sat down, unaware of the similarity in the position the one her father always took at Stark's sacred place. She sighed and brushed the hair out of her face. The whispers of the leaves spoke of her regret, sadness and loneliness instead of her and Sansa hoped the Starks would hear the song of her heart wherever their spirits laid now.

Sansa heard rustling and shouts of urgency before Hodor emerged from the thick forest with Bran on his back, long legs dangling on Hodor's sides.

"Sansa, Sansa! Jon sent a letter!"

Sansa quickly stood up before Hodor and Bran offered her the paper. Her peace washed away as she broke the seal.

Hodor put her brother down on the ground and Sansa joined him, clutching the paper between her fingers a little too tightly.

Bran kept his facial expression in line, calm, as emotionless as he could make it, but his eyes flew across the paper and Sansa's face like mad, hungry wolves in search for food.

"Baelish." She whispered. The word slowly stretched across the forest and Bran's unblinking vision until Sansa continued. "…dead."

Bran nudged her in the ribs and she read the letter out loud, the letter which was short and alarming. It reeked of a rotten, old hope and a fresher wave of something she couldn't quite place.

She skipped the words of rushed greeting and through rows of messy, fast writing.

"_This morning_", she read, "_Lord Baelish has been found dead at the gates of the Capitol. His death both seemed to be a shock and a relief to the Queen and her Small Council. I think you must know how it felt for me, as I think you would feel similarly, but there is something else._"  
Sansa felt Bran shiver. "_There was a note on this body. I shall not keep you in the dark for long – the note simply said: 'For the Starks'. I am absolutely certain it was Arya's hand to punish Baelish and write that. The note itself, though, was not the first or only clue for these doubts. There's been a notice of a young woman matching Arya's description of eye and hair colour, body type and actions. The Queen herself caught a sight of her and swore to me she saw a resemblance between the woman and me. The Queen also offered a part of her men to help the search for our sister, but I've not quite the smallest expectations of you seeing her in the North before us in the South. May the old and new gods help us now, sister_."

"Sansa." The wind howled like the long dead souls have heard Jon Stark's words of news and hope.

"Sansa." Bran's thin fingers wrapped around her wrists and gripped them comfortingly. "Stop crying."

"Sansa, stop crying."

"Sansa!"

"Sister please, there are no bad news in Jon's words."

Sansa knew that. "Indeed, there aren't." she faced her brother, smiling and nudging his shoulder with hers. "But they are most unexpected, and most welcome."

"Why the tears?"

She gripped his hands, shuddering at the wind. She had allowed, although recklessly, to find the wind weirdly hopeful and inviting. "She's coming back to us, Brandon." The wind cried out in a fear of broken hearts and hopes Sansa herself didn't feel. "_Our little wolf_, she's coming back."

**DAENERYS**

The Queen had never before felt like a fool.

But as she descended down the many levels of the Red Keep's underground she felt less secure and wise than she had since Viserys last took hold of her.

Huffing in annoyance as he practically skipped down the stairs to keep up with her pace, Tyrion Lannister gave off his own nervousness and reluctance. "My Queen – "

"I've made my choice." Dany hissed, not looking back at him. "You are free, if you wish, to return to the Court."

He stubbornly kept his pace, although replying in his own sarcastic manner. "We _are_ at the Court, my dear. At its oldest part."

Dany shivered at the echoes of his voice, cascading through the barely lit halls, the light emerging from the torch in her guard's hand, who walked in front of her.

She believed Tyrion's words, not because she thought of him as her loyal companion (he was a Lannister, after all), but for the magic creeping down her spine. Old, powerful and angry magic. She felt the dragons before they saw the skulls.

Daenerys drank the sight with her eyes, feeling sadness and pride while looking at the last remains of what were her dragons' ancestors.

"I take it you've been here before."

"I've never been a fan of secrecy, and most not one of mystery." Tyrion claimed bitterly.

"So I've noticed."

The Imp smiled and his powerful friend returned the gest.

As they neared the most protected dungeon, though, Dany felt less willing to smile and more to fight.

"She's here, Your Grace." The guard placed the torch on the wall, bowed, and took a stand further from the bars of the cell.

Dany inhaled deeply, a mocking voice calling from the darkness.

"Have you come to rejoice or to fulfil the needs of your curiosity, my _Queen_?"

Dany had to remind herself she was doing this for Jon. After all, she could scarcely even begin to question where her debts to him began and whether they were worth this.

Were they not, her secret affection for the Northern lord and bastard (hidden even from her own self) was claiming its right to this occasion of repaying.

"Approach." The young Queen called for the woman in a much more confident voice.

Shadows moved to reveal the demented, slender form of the Red Priestess, now dressed in red rags.

"My Queen?" the voice of the witch drawled.

"Your magic stands by your side still. You cannot decline it." Daenerys claimed.

"Your own magic stands in my way of negotiating a way for the use of it for my own good." When Daenerys looked a little shocked, the woman barely smiled with a shadow in on her skin. A shadow of agony. "I have no other choice but to answer your command, and why _wouldn't_ I be honest for a while?"

"Where is Arya Stark?"

The precious time of the Queen was not to be wasted or played with, and most of all her mind was to stay clear, and this woman and her filthy magic left her in more danger than before. That was partly a reason she had hoped Tyrion would accompany her at the visit when she informed him of it, for she knew his brisk words would keep her away from being manipulated.

The Red Priestess backed away with laughter at her lips. "You're looking for a ghost."

"Tell me!"

The darkness filled the witch's form again and the silence lasted. "She is No one. She is herself. She has a wolf on her one side, and a bull on the other. Late King's blood protects her. The blood that is the last of its kind. The trio is of three almost extinct species."

"_Where_?!"

Whispers snarled and Dany's spine was hit by waves of shivers and coldness. "She's on the run. She's returning to where she belongs."

"But _who_ is with her? _Who's_ blood protects her?!" Dany screamed.

The Red Priestess let out a long sigh. Sounds much alike to nails scraping over the walls filled the silence.

"The last Baratheon."

**GENDRY**

Gendry never dreamt of anything but a forest. There would sometimes be people, animals and so on, but what never changed was the forest around them.

He used to dream of the forest as the sun brightened the old trees and fired up the golden leaves, as a warm, soft voice of his mother sang a beautiful melody. The song was the one of the lovely lady of the forest, the one laughing at the ladies and lords, their crowns and gowns, and her lover who wished for her to only ever be his. When his mother sang of this, he felt true connection with words and sadness in her voice.

Lately, the dreams were rarer and the most often ones were the burning forest and screams. Then he started dreaming of Arya when she left him. Her silhouette vanishing behind the old trees, him calling for her and running, trying to catch more than a glimpse of her as Lem's voice mockingly sang the song he first heard in the dreams of his mother.

"Gendry. Wake up." Arya's brisk voice distantly broke through another one of the dreams, and he forgot whether it was the mother, the forest or Arya who claimed the main spot in the.

He rubbed at his eyes and set up. The fire was out and the sky was dark. Nymeria slept as Arya leaned into her body, and all the furs they had were now pulled over Gendry. He groaned and removed them.

"Are you not cold?" he forced his voice through his throat, still rough from sleep.

"No." Arya stroked through Nymeria's long fur. "She keeps me warm."

Watching her, Gendry supposed it was a woman before him, coming of years and developing. But she was, firstly, Arya. He would never take an opinion on her upon a part of her that was only characteristic for her whole gender.

Gendry knew better than to judge anyone's and especially hers character based on what was in their breaches.

Arya's skin pulled over her bones tightly and he knew she had been through a lot of tormenting, hunger and fighting from the scars on her hands and one on her cheek. Her hair was longer now, reaching almost to her shoulders, her eyes darker and still as big and round, her cheekbones more profound, but Gendry could still see the past her in every single movement.

"_Why_ did you wake me up?"

Arya chewed on her lip unconsciously like she used to before. Old habits die hard, he thought.

"It's your watch." She said with scarcely any emotion in her voice.

"Oh. All right. Would you like the furs?"

Arya glanced at Nymeria, than down at the ground before shrugging. "S'ppose they'd be more comfortable than the ground on its own."

Gendry rolled up the furs and pulled them in his arms before walking over to her and dropping them. She hastily straightened some of them on the ground before burring herself in the rest.

He watched her as she turned his back to him, wondering if she would be able to sleep better than he had.

The furs that belonged to Arya might have presented the most of his problem with sleep; they irritated the Seven hells out of him and lit a fire he couldn't cross; he hated how, after all those years, her smell had not changed one bit and he was feeling like he had always felt before when he slept beside her. Her smell would keep him awake for hours and her warmth never quite reached him, the inches between them turning into leagues.

He walked back to his spot and sat down, gazing up into the stars.

**ARYA**

She had not slept at all.

The moment she put her body down and rolled into the furs, she wished she hadn't accepted Gendry's offer. His furs smelled strongly like him, and with all the years she spent away, a sudden change was not brought to her delight.

When she saw him through her blurry vision, creamed with tears and buried into Nymeria's fur, there was little place in her heart for any other feelings but the fits of affection and shock at meeting her beloved direwolf again. Then, when they settled for the night, she took the first watch to calm down the confliction in her mind.

Gendry was no boy anymore.

He carried himself with strength, will and look less like any other lowborn man she had ever laid eyes on. Arya wondered for a while if he had discovered the truth about his identity, and made a mental note to ask him about it if she dared restoring their previous relation.

That was the problem, though. In years gone by, she pushed almost everyone away from her thoughts, and Gendry was no exception. She remembered now, how she had met him, how she had failed to feel passive toward him, how she was soon left with respect and trust in him, how he had let her cling onto him until he was the one that needed leadership after the terror at Harrenhall. She remembered how she had planned, with grief, to leave him until she found out he was already determined to leave her.

That was what crushed every string of warmth she ever was conscious of in his presence.

It took her a lot of whining to herself in darkness and silence in her mind to become aware of the fact that not only was the trust in him broken, but also a little piece of her heart she hoped she didn't have. It was a tiny, small piece, the one Sansa had plenty of and had publicly wore and treasured it. Arya thought she would never feel love like that, but in Gendry there was something pulling out a thin, fragile thread out of the restraining she put into the thought.

Being in his presence again made her well aware, as she was more mature and quite relevant of everything logical and realistic in their possible future, of what could happen if she dared trusting him again as much as her childlike version did.

Arya Stark used to be stubborn, determined, strong-willed and repulsed at the thought of love.

The present Arya, however, was not even certain of her own mental condition, and although as strong and stubborn as ever, couldn't be sure of her feelings towards love. She loved her mother and father for their love and the way they were when they were alive, she loved the sibling love she shared with her brothers as sister, but she denied even acknowledging what Joffrey had done to Sansa as love. She mourned for abused wives and children and all the people unhappily in love. She never meant to put herself in place for someone to be given an option to act that way toward her. But sometimes she believed it was not her conscious choice to make.

In the hours she could not sleep, Arya thought of her chances of leaving Gendry.

It did not take her long to completely forget the possibility, for the return of Nymeria and for their own welfare. It might threaten him greatly to be left alone, but Arya would not forgive herself, as a Stark she yearned to once again fully be, to leave a man she used to care for as a trusted companion alone and endangered.

When the sun finally peeked through the early hours, she rose up before Gendry had time to turn his head around fast enough to see her jump.

"Slept bad?"

Anyone else would have asked "Slept good?" but Gendry was an exception she was currently grateful for. Someone who understood.

"I've had worse." Her reply was maybe sharper than it ought to be, but none of them, Arya knew, had expected to be as open as before to each other.

"I have some stale bread and old, burned meat if you'd like to breakfast." He said almost timidly.

Feeling too superior at the sound in his words to be glad about it, Arya waved off the words with her hand and almost snorted. "_Anything_ is damnably delightful in these times, Gendry."

She saw a little tug in the corners of his lips and knew instantly she would regret any soft word she said in front of him. "Milady is right."

She puffed. "Back to that, are we now?"

He only shook his head, laughing slightly without looking at her as he provided them with the food.

"So what happened? With the Brotherhood, and Nymeria and how in the Seven Hells did you get this?" She motioned at the food.

Gendry shrugged. His expression was sour and dark. "Not a very cheer story if I may say."

"None of them are." Arya bit into her breakfast. She sat cross legged in front of him as he stared firmly at the ground. "You _can't_ dig a hole only with your eyes." she remarked.

"Milady was always so _wise_." He snarled. Then he sighed. "I left the Brotherhood in search for you, in a group of our 20 own and 50 of your brother's. They came by and asked for help and information."

"They're looking for me?"

Gendry puffed and bit off a huge piece of meat. He didn't speak until he swallowed it. "They were. Dead now."

"_What_?" Arya forgot about her breakfast as she stared at him. "Please tell me Jon wasn't with you!"

"No, no he wasn't. Last I heard, he was in King's Landing, attending to some Court business of that new Queen."

Arya took a moment to calm down, biting into her food again. "And you? How did you pull out alive?"

Gendry looked sick and hateful. Arya didn't acquire more than a few seconds to realize it was himself he hated. "I wasn't there. Off seeking for wood. _Stupid_." He cursed.

"Only I get to call you stupid, _stupid_." Arya said silently. He looked up at her, all remorseful and guilty. "It wasn't your fault they were killed. Wasn't your fault, and better yet, you're _alive_."

"Better?" he wondered.

"Oh don't be stupid over it, now!" she moaned and stuffed the rest of the stale bread in her mouth.

"Very ladylike." Gendry commented at the sight of her choking on the huge bite. He clapped her on the back and sighed when she breathed in deeply once again. "I met Nymeria just before we heard the fight."

"She came to you?" Arya was shocked. She glanced at the direwolf, who she had not noticed had awakened. Nymeria stared at them with watchful yellow eyes and didn't move an inch from her sleeping position.

"I don't really know if it was purposefully… maybe she was just passing by, I don't know. All I know is she was suddenly there, almost pressing her jaw against my head, and I didn't know what to do so I just patted her on the head." Gendry shrugged again. "She seemed to be fond of that."

"You just casually _patted her on the head_?" Arya, all rage and disbelief, turned to face Nymeria again. "What the _fuck_, Nymeria? _That's not what we do_!"

She sensed rather than saw Gendry trying to stifle his laughter and turned back to him as Nymeria softly whined in the back. "You – "

"Stupid?" he cut in. Arya's face flushed in rage. "Oh, you haven't aged a day!"

And then she paled. It was too quick to even be possible, but as soon as he noticed her change, she was off, stalking toward her direwolf.

She feared this moment. She feared the rejection although he tried not to be aware of the potential disappointment at its sudden presence. Arya never was one to take pride in being a child, she always wanted not just to be older and independent; she wanted _not to be a lady_, for her own intellect could never play the part without sickness.

"Arya…" Gendry started. It seemed he didn't know how to finish.

It wasn't just that she didn't like being called something she always wanted not to be, young and childish, but the fact that she had lived through so many horrors and had done so many things very few of even adult men would dare, and she was still thought of as young.

"Do you really think I'm that young?" she asked from where she was kneeling next to Nymeria, her back to Gendry.

"Arya, I never have thought you were that young. You didn't act it even when it was your only right to." Gendry said softly. She hated pity and softness in people's voices. She loved his words, though. They had made her feel better.

"Then how come I have not aged?"

"You _have_, stupid." He grumbled.

That was when it clicked.

She turned around. Gendry didn't even look shocked at his own words, he only looked put off at the look on her face. "Whose bastard _are_ you?"

Gendry sucked in a lot of air as she pulled up on her feet, Nymeria following and taking a stand at her side.

After a long pause, with all the strength he could muster, Gendry could only weakly say: "Funny story."

…

"How in the Seven Hells did you go unnoticed?" Arya asked in shock as they rode, him on the horse, her on her direwolf. He had to keep up with Nymeria's easily fast pace.

"I didn't." he guiltily said. "I'm afraid my existence too had played a part in your father's decapitation."

Arya snorted. "The only existence causing my father's decapitation was the one of Cersei Lannister. Her child might have ordered my father's death, but she was the one to break everything in the first place."

She gave him a quick glance. "S'ppose I could be calling you my lord."

It was mockery, but Gendry laughed like it was the best joke she had ever said. "I'm still a bastard, milady."

"But a _highborn_ bastard!" she exclaimed.

"…is a bastard no less." Gendry inclined his head.

"Oh spare me the thought, you know well enough you could easily be a legit Lord and be a valid threat to the throne if you wanted. You also know if the latter was completely out of question in your opinion, you could do well without a threat from the throne, too." Arya shrugged.

"I keep forgetting how used to all these politics things you are." Gendry snorted. "It's like you have millions of faces, Arya Stark. And I only get to see glimpses."

She decided not to tell him of her recent training, in which she was to be taught how to actually take another face.

After that, they rode in silence, and her newly found, old companion wordlessly agreed to follow wherever she was heading at the moment. He probably knew well enough where the only place she would go to was.


	5. Growling in the River

**A/N **_I know I'm uploading a lot earlier than supposed to, but I found an escape so I am posting to be sure I'll ever post it. I'm really dealing with heavy problems guys, be patient. And ignore the utter turn to romance in this chapter. I wanted to just throw it all in at once, thinking it would be easiest, but then it turned out it actually fit together in time line quite well… I hope you'll read and review and what not, so I'll leave you to it. Oh, and I forgot to do the disclaimer or what the hell. Enjoy, guys!_

**Summary**: _This is like a short stop down the road, no one is doing anything, they're all just dealing with feelings or decisions_…

**DISCLAIMER: I do not, I repeat, I do not own anything! **

**JON**

„Has there been anything newly reported on the matter?"

„Just a missing horse taken by a scrawny looking lad. We can't be sure if it's your sister, my Lord."

Jon Snow sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was no Stark in his mind. It would take a lot more than a fast decision by some highborn to change his state of mind.

Arya was definitely a Stark, though. And his favourite, too. He hoped she would just show a glimpse of herself anywhere down to road, so he could tell if his doubt were true and if she was alive and well. Nymeria would be of hand, he knew. But was she with her? Was his sister's direwolf even alive?

"All right, then. Keep me posted." Jon said. Daenerys cleared her throat in the corner and he glanced at her. She stood there, leaning over a chair and gripping its back with her tiny fists. She was dressed in one of her violet dresses, and there was nothing of what he was used to in her form. The dress showed too much for his mind to be at peace. Seven hells, it showed to much for his mind to even stay on the clean path. He sighed. "Leave us, Pteryn."

The newest Lord Commander of the King's – now the _Queen's_ – Guard nodded his head and stepped out of the chamber.

"My Queen…" Jon said, looking at the floor.

"Jon, please. You can call me by my name, at least when we're alone."

He looked up, too fast, with too much of Arya's wit in his eyes. One eyebrow arched up, hidden smile removed from his lips.

It seemed Daenerys had come to the same conclusion, as her eyes only slightly, but still visibly, widened.

"Very well, then, Daenerys." The name was new on his lips, new, exotic, beautiful.

Just like her.

It seemed hearing the name from his lips was as strikingly new to Daenerys as it was to him.

"Maybe we'll keep it simpler." She said, with obvious restrain in her voice. Jon looked at her with concern – she was holding in a breath. "Dany. It's just… easier." She offered him a small smile.

Yes, it was simpler, so much more normal and had not represented her own character nearly as well as 'Daenerys'. But Jon, even as a Stark, could not just say that to the Queen of the Realm.

"If you would like to…" Dany stared at him. He felt a bit odd, and shuffled on his feet. He nodded his head at her, urging her to continue. "If you would like to go look for her, um, yourself, I think something might be arranged."

Jon almost choke on the breath he took. "My Queen – "

"Dany."

"Dany – that is very generous of you, but I'm already in debt to you and I don't know how to – "

He was caught off guard when she gave a loud huff of annoyance and strolled toward him, crossing her arms on her chest and leaning her head toward his, with only inches in between. "You _have_ no debt to me, Jon Snow _or_ Stark. You had no debt when you were a Snow, and you have even less as a Stark. You are by my side, on your _own_ free will, and for that I am grateful, but do not hesitate to leave _right here, right now_, if _debts_ are the only thing standing in your way!"

She finished and clenched her jaw, not backing away at all.

Certain heat unrelated to blush on his face started boiling in Jon's body, and he had to swallow hard, his mind completely overridden with her scent and her eyes, so intense and so colourful and so close, and then… her lips.

"Right now, _Daenerys_… you're in my way."

She fluttered her eyelids only once but it was enough to confirm his hopes and fears. After another second he was aware of the heaviness of the words he only just spoke.

Daenerys was no fool, but she wasn't a liar. Once he had spoken, he knew there was nothing to hold back her sharp words or actions.

But what he hadn't expected was the defeated fall of her head, with her eyes tightly closed, as one of her fists closed like a claw around his arms, clinging onto him.

"There are some things, Jon, in the world…" Daenerys started and his arm went around her, tightly holding onto her shoulder, and she leaned in, pressing her head against his chest. "…some things _so_ not worth putting in danger. And you're one of them."

Jon stayed silent, but he only gripped her slender form closer to his taller, stronger one.

The heat was gone – of course it was. But he had a feeling instead of a heart, there was her touch. If she was gone, so would his heart be.

"Let us discuss the matter of my sister, my Queen." Jon said in a soft, silent voice. Dany nodded against him, and he tightly shut his eyes closed just once more, just once more in her presence, in her touch, before he would step away from her, and they would not be brought together.

Because it would not be proper, at all.

**GENDRY**

It was not proper. It was definitely as improper as it could get.

"No!" he said again. "No way!"

"We're too close to the Twins, Gendry, don't be the stupid bull just yet! I don't know how the things played out, how much danger we'd be in if they caught, _especially_ separated!" Arya shouted at him, maniacally throwing her hands in the air. Nymeria whined behind her. "Shush, Nymeria! Gendry, I haven't changed a bit, and you know we've done this before, even after Harrenhal!"

"_This is something else entirely!" _Gendry yelled back, almost seeing red in his anger._ "You mean to bathe next to me, but you're not that little girl anymore!"_

Arya huffed again. He hated her for this – she just couldn't understand how wrong this sounded, especially not how wrong it would _be_.

"If you dare, Gendry…" she said in her softest, most dangerous voice. "If you dare for a second tell me I am a _woman flowered_, I will rip you fucking head off and then I'll no one to worry about!"

Gendry shuddered. Half because of her term, a woman flowered, which, as long as definitely not good of a term for Arya, was damn well of a term for her body. Which he did _not_ notice. He _refused_ to notice her body. For all he cared, she had only a head.

And half because of the part where she basically said she cared for him. Not that he noticed that part either. Absolutely not.

Gendry decided to be very ignorant of even his own observations that day.

Well – if he put it that way…. He could _try_ to ignore her. And make her swear she would never speak of this to anyone – not ever.

He sighed. "All right. But just be – "

But it was too late.

His eyes widened his horror and his throat and breaches tightened with something else entirely.

**ARYA**

She didn't waste a smallest of moments after he finally accepted her request. There _was_ no other choice, really. If he wanted to get them murdered brutally and separated, then he would have his way and safe his junk from her eyes. Not that she hadn't seen it before. It wasn't quite impressive, after all. It was just meat and skin, no fucking rainbows or dragon fire coming out of it. Just piss.

So as soon as he said "All right" in that raspy, defeated voice of his, she quickly pulled of her breeches and shirt and ran for the water in her smallclothes.

"WOOOOOOOOH!"

It probably wasn't very smart to scream, but if it was their day to die, well…

Oh, it wasn't. "Not today." She muttered as she gulped for air when she resurfaced.

"_Arya_, you can't just do that to people!" a very raged Gendry leaned over her, still standing on the ground.

She gazed up at him with false innocence. "But I just _did_."

He moaned in distress and turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. She thought the poor lad might have been a little too worn out from her constant nagging and energy. She might as well keep her smallclothes on.

For several days already, Arya was getting back to him for what she thought was the only heartbreak of her life. He was her _friend_, her _companion_, a person of trust she was ready to kill or maybe even die for. She was raised to think the lowborns less worthy, but nobody, not even her family, could have convinced her at that time that Gendry was not worthy.

He was _everything_ to her. Only piece of sanity she had to hold onto.

So she laughed and splashed him with water, and he roared and finally burst. He pulled off his clothes and jump right in, and before she had time to wonder why he wasn't diving out, something grabbed her leg and she screamed before it pulled her under.

"Seven Hells, Arya!"

"You really shouldn't have pulled me under." She was feeling bad about it, though. "Could I help?"

"FOR GODS – NO!"

"Calm down, I've just tried being polite!"

Gendry, who was doubled over in water, looked at her with watery eyes. "_You can't just ask a man to see to his hurt cock_."

"I was the one who hurt it in the first place – you wouldn't have said that if it were your eye." Arya crossed her arms over chest. It was more than protective – she was soaked and cold and waiting for Gendry to move because she sure wasn't to back off first.

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't let Arya Stark see to any of my wounds unless I wanted to get hurt even more." Gendry mumbled.

Arya sighed in annoyance and ran her fingers through her wet, short hair. Then she decided.

"Well, I'm very sorry for the impotence of your organ – "  
"It's _not_ impotent!"  
"But seeing you're not moving and I can't wear wet clothes, I'm going to get out of it. You can turn around or be happy for the impotence."

Gendry looked up at her. "Arya." He breathed. "Please don't."

"I'll get sick, and we really don't have any medications!"

"Arya…"

"Oh, come on Gendry. You're being _stupid_!"

His mouth shut but his eyes suddenly fell to her body and she felt a kind of numbness in her head at his open stare. Those eyes, those blue, blue eyes were drinking her in for just a second too long to be coincidence.

_And there's not a lot of me to see._

"You have to?" he asked, returning his eyes to her face. His pupils were as wide as possible, darkening his eyes even more.

"I'm not done, moron." She responded. Her voice sounded too rough. "You don't look very much in pain anymore."

Now, Arya wasn't Sansa. She wasn't any other regular lady or woman for that matter. She was barely seven-and-ten and not very physical in her previous experiences. But there was only so far that went in Gendry's presence.

It's been a long time since she noticed his face and jaw and neck and eyes. All of which were incredibly strong, as strong as the steel he used to work on in his forge. She sometimes liked to look at his eyes not only because she thought they made parts of her wake up, parts she didn't know were possible to wake up in her. She supposed it was the wish, the thirst… but no, she genuinely like his eyes, scarcely because of their attractiveness and more of because of himself. Gendry did so much with only his eyes. Before when she knew him, one look was almost enough to calm her down. It would be enough to make her mad. It would be enough to make her sad. And she never let people make her sad.

But _naked_ Gendry – that was _not good_ at all.

She was surprised to see scars blooming across his flesh. She was surprised to feel oddly attracted to those parts of him. She loved the way his muscles stretched his skin when he took deep breaths. She adored the broadness of his chest and back, his strong, muscled arms and the way his fists and fingers looked – like they could break anything. Like they could seal her in his grip forever.

As he straightened up again, wincing only once, to inform her it didn't hurt anymore, she got a decent view at his stomach, too. It wasn't just the flat muscle, it was more how his sharp hipbones made her tremble with heat she thought didn't exist.

"Arya?"

She shrugged off her disturbing thoughts. Gendry was looking at her anxiously. "Are you still up for nudeness?"

"Well you're nude." She said.

"Yeah, but _I_ haven't changed as much as _you_ have!"

She suddenly saddened somehow, thinking how different he thought her to be, when in truth, she's changed as little as it was possible.

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked him.

Gendry sighed. "I'm not – "

"Oh, please, save it!" she snapped and turned away from him.

Stupid, bullheaded boy. He wouldn't tell her what to do.

She stripped away the rest of her clothes, and dived in again.

She knew it was wrong to stay under for too long, but the longer she stayed there, the more she thought it was Braavos. The sea was warmer, it was salty, it was different. But when Arya stayed in the river long enough, it wouldn't seem so cold anymore. When she kept her eyes and mouth firmly shut, she could imagine salt on her tongue.

It was really wrong to stay under. Arya should have known he would panic.

When his hands gripped her around the waist, Arya gave an irritate pull, but it wasn't worth it. His arms were stronger than she expected.

"_What were you thinking_?!" he half screamed at her when they resurfaced. His black hair stung near to his eyes, creating quite a contrast. Drops of water shimmered on his face and his lips were red and trembling. "It's too easy to drown in there, Arya!"

He held her by her shoulders as they both trembled. She was angrier than he was, but after all, he looked more like he's been scared to death.

"I wasn't going to stay there!" she shouted just as heatedly back at him. "I know how long I can hold my breath, and it's not my fault you're been scared for almost the whole day already! What is wrong with you?!"

He let go of her and stepped back. "You have no right to talk like that." He slowly said. It frightened her to hear his voice so low. "We were together, Arya. You and me. Always. We took care of each other, I had your back, you had mine. I don't know how different it feels for you, but for me it's still the same! If I see your head go down, I won't wait long before going in there for you!" He yelled, but his voice broke on the last word. He brought his hands to the side of her face. "Do you understand?"

Her heart was too fast but her eyes weren't blinking. She grabbed his wrists with her hands but didn't pull his hands away from her. She even pressed a little

"Gendry, you left me." She said slowly. Her voice was poisonous. Her eyes stared at him like daggers. "And now you say those things. _You left me_."

His voice is pleading. His voice scrapes along her skin and leaves warm traces, it surges down to her deepest parts. His voice is barely enough to be felt, but oh, how she feels it…

"I never meant to."

They stand that way, naked and shaking, as he holds her face and she holds her hands and there' nothing they can settle to do, nothing to move, and as he breathes into her face and she feels his heat, she doesn't think she wants to move unless it's _closer._

Arya grips his hands tighter and then she lets go of him. He looks almost disappointed and she wraps her arms around her chest. She's not sure anymore. She's not certain about him. He's changed. Or she's changed. Maybe they both are, but what matters to her is the way her feelings toward him changed. Maybe she knew he was strong before, maybe she knew how different he was, but she hadn't known how the simplest touch ignites howling of a hundred hungry direwolves in her body. She wanted nothing more than to touch him more.

That was why she moved away.

But Gendry wasn't like that. He stared at her for a moment before something clenched in his jaw, settled into his eyes. His arms reached for her and grabbed her by the hips, and there wasn't even time to protest before he hungrily put his lips over hers.

It was weird, Arya thought. Weird how he only kissed her, only touched the soft skin of his lips next to hers and the wolves were not only satisfied, but hungrier.

Gendry pulled her tightly against his body, and she slid her arms from her chest to his, digging her nails into his skin, then reaching up, stretching her body against his as he moaned into her mouth, and she grabbed his neck, then his back. She felt the part of Gendry she had only recently hurt, and it was firm and hard and she thought it felt so good pressed against her.

Arya bit his lower lip and he groaned, scraping against her back with his fingers. She pulled her one hand over his neck tightly, gripping onto the muscle. She growled and Gendry forced her mouth open with his tongue.

His hands travelled up and down her back until she snapped out of the daze for a second to glare at him "Don't be a coward, bull." And then he came to life, for real, tugging at her skin, massaging it, softly pulling until she whined. Then he tangled his fingers in her short hair and tugged her head back, kissing and biting the skin of her neck. When the tips of his fingers touched her breast, Arya's eyes shot open.

"Gendry." She breathed out and he must've felt the change in her voice because he pulled away immediately.

She put her hands on his chest and he pulled his both hands into her hair. He tugged at it and pulled her head back. She looked up at him. He was worried and scared, once again.

Arya knew a lot about him and she knew it was right then that he felt guilty and nervous.

"Stupid bull." She muttered and softly kissed his lips before pulling away again.

"What's wrong?" his voice was roughed and deeper than before. It didn't help in trying to make her newly found wish go away. And she supposed he had some trouble, too – she could sense him as firm as ever against her. She thought about pulling away further, but it was too difficult.

"There's nothing exactly wrong." Arya admitted. "It's just… fast. Weird. New."

"New?"

Arya glared at him. So what – he had a few good shags, she didn't.

"I'm just kidding Arya, it's new to me, too." he softly said, tugging at her hair again, this time in affection.

"Really?" she snarled disbelievingly.

"Well, not all of it, but…" he looked ashamed. "It's kind of different."

"What, first time in water, lover bull?"

"Arya."

"Come on, Gendry. I might not have had any kind of shag in all of my life, but I'm not stupid, and I know you have. Probably before we separated, too."

Gendry bit his lip. There was something else but guilt in his eyes. Mischief? "You've… _never_?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "I had a little more on my mind than simple pleasures of ordinary mortals."

He was still looking at her, all of the setting in his face gone. She didn't know what he thought. She might have even felt a pang in her naked chest, a pang of fear. Rejection was never a good thing in her life.

She moved away from him, shuddering a little when his arms left her. "We should probably get out. It's getting dark." She motioned generally up at the sky.

Gendry nodded, still thinking, still staring. It didn't bother her before, but somehow being naked in front of him felt different. "Gendry?"

"Hmmph?" he blinked.

"Could you look away?"

He laughed in response, an amused, deep laughter that roared all the way down to her bones. She shuddered again as he turned around.

**DANY**

It's been hours since Pteryn left them alone, and they were still trying to convince the other what to do.

"But if _you_ were on the dragon _with_ me – "

"I told you, I'm not getting on that thing! I trust you with all my heart, but it's just…"

Dany sighed sadly. "Is it _too much_?" she asked. She saw Jon's face wince in pain. "Too much to do to save one of your remaining siblings? Even when you're the only one that currently has the power to help her?"

"Dany, please…"

"No, Jon." She firmly said. The Queen stood up from her chair and walked to him, putting her hands on his slouched shoulders as he leaned forward. Holding her one hand on his shoulder, she put the other under his chin, softly pushing his head up with her fingers. "It's your choice. You can find her at the Twins, or you can wait for news from Winterfell that may never come."

Jon's breathing was heavy and his eyes were so tired and sad. The sun was setting, and it shone once last time through the window at them, reflecting in his eyes, making them seem emptier than they were. He softly put his hands on her hips and leaned his head on her stomach. "_Daenerys_."

"She'll come back to you, my sweet." Dany stroked his hair with one hand, sliding the other from his shoulder to his neck. "You'll find her. Complete your pack. You'll have your family, just… like I have mine."

Daenerys fought against shaking – he would sense it, and she couldn't let him think she was weak. But the truth was, she felt weak. Coming so close to love, once again, but not daring to touch it, as it was improper and irresponsible. She couldn't have him. He couldn't have her. But as he gripped her hips with his rough fingers and she felt it like there was no fabric in between, she had the feeling the whole world was wrong, because this was the only thing supposed to be. Her and Jon. Together, in any way possible.

"I'll go with you." He said. He looked up at her with determined eyes. "I'll climb on that dragon with you and we'll find my sister. And then we'll take her to Winterfell, and stay there with us. I'll come back with you to King's Landing, but before that you'll be with us for a few days. You'll be safe. There are not many people in Winterfell. And they will all keep you hidden."

Daenerys felt the biting behind her eyes but refused to let the tears even come to her eyes. With dry eyes, she smiled at him. She knew what he was giving her. Giving _them_. A little piece of heaven, where they could decide whatever they wanted and let it stay in Winterfell afterword.

"Promise me, Daenerys." He begged her. "Promise me you'll come to Winterfell with us."

She promised.

He let her go.

She went to her dragons and let them cover her with their wings, screaming and muffling her desperate sobs.

**GENDRY**

He was returning to their fire when he saw her bicker with the wolf.

Arya's messed up hair was almost dry and her face bore reflections of fire and shame, as she threw a stick at Nymeria, hitting her between the eyes. "_Shut up!"_

"You know she doesn't talk, right?" Gendry said as he threw down the twigs he found. Arya jumped up at the sound of his voice and stuttered. Gendry laughed before he heard Nymeria bark shortly, repeatedly. "Is she _laughing_?"

"You said it yourself." Arya darkly threw a twig at the fire. "She doesn't talk."

"But _laughing_?" he still couldn't tear his eyes away from the direwolf. "That's just crazy!"

Arya snorted and glared at him. "Oh, I wasn't aware of how different it is than dragons and direwolves and dead people coming back to life!"

"All right, calm your breeches. I was just surprised."

But Arya seemed to blush at the mention of breeches and turn her head away for a minute. Gendry watched her carefully, a full smile spreading across his face. "My, my." He said.

Arya threw a glare at him faster and stronger than Hound could throw a dagger.

"Ashamed of something, milady?"

"Don't call me milady!"

"But only a lady can blush do lovely!" he teased and slowly stalked toward her. He kneeled down in front of her, and she just glared at him again. She was still blushing, though.

"Can't talk now either, can you?" he whispered, still smiling. He'd get his fun with her, after all, he's spent too many years sulking and feeling bad for himself and the whole world.

Gendry wasn't entirely sure _when_ he decided kissing her was a good idea. He just knew there was no way to let her bathe in that river once alone once he'd seen her half-naked. Then he knew that letting her strip completely naked would be murderous, and then when she was naked he really didn't care for anything but touching her anymore. It might have seemed animalistic of him, and it might have seemed wrong, but he honestly meant it when he told her just bloody kissing her was different. Because he knew her. Because she was Arya. Because she was so special and because she was so herself, she even kissed like Arya. And it drove him mad.

He felt so mad that even when he realized he was kissing a righteous little lady he didn't give a damn. She was no lady, after all, and she wasn't a girl that let anyone have their part of fun with her. She was the type to get her own fun.

"Stupid bull." She muttered. Her hair was all tussled and he wanted nothing more than to mess it up even more, run his fingers over the strands and locks and tug at it again.

"You know they call you she-wolf? And little wolf? Do you?" Gendry put his one hand on her neck and she shivered. He liked it. "They've got all these nicknames for you, but she-wolf is the most popular."

"Really?" she didn't really look like she cared for his words. She leaned into his touch when he ran his thumb over her pulse point.

"Aye." He gripped her hair with his other hand. "I prefer she-wolf, too."

"You like that one, huh?" she stared at his eyes with her unyielding ones.

He felt his heart falter. "I do. But I don't love it."

She blinked, waiting for him to continue. She was so cunning, his Arya. Wouldn't even fear for one second he was really fooling her like that. "I love another name."

"Which one?" she softly asked. He hated it when she spoke softly. It was venomous, it was sweet and bitter, it pulled him to her like the thickest spider web.

"The one that describes you the most." He said. "Arya."

She gave him only a short, barking laughter. "You're delusional."

"And honest." He whispered and leaned in. Her lips parted, just a second away from him, when she sighed and pulled back.

"Wait."

Gendry quickly backed off.

**ARYA**

"I'm not a lover."

"Right. I know that."

"No, Gendry, what I mean is that you can't expect me to simply give into you for just any reason!"

Gendry blinked at her and cleared his throat. "I don't expect you to _give in_, Arya."

She scowled. "What do you want, then?"

Gendry's mouth fell open like he was going to answer, but then he shrugged and her heart fell. "I'm not quite certain."

"Then _why_ kiss me? Why do any of this?"

"Because I couldn't just not do it!" he snapped. His eyes dark, his mouth firm, she had a feeling he was going to growl any second.

"Do you want me?" she asked in a small voice. His expression changed from angry to confused in a moment. Her eyes traced the line of his jaw, and another shiver meant to pass her but she kept her ground, refusing to give in just then.

"Do I want – of course I want you, Arya!" he is growling, now. "Who wouldn't?"

She has a long list on her mind, but she doesn't say that. She just sighs and rubs her forehead. "I don't mean it like that. I just don't know how else to ask."

Gendry stared at her for a moment before exclaiming "Oh!" it took him another moment to gather himself. "Oh… I, uh… I expect you mean, you know…"

He didn't know anything about this, no matter the years. He might have been strong and kind and powerful, but Gendry never had love in his life the way she had seen her parents have. The way she even had with her siblings. Gendry had none of it, but he still understood what she meant. He always understood. He was different.

"Like the song Lem used to sing at Harrenhal." She shamefully said. she saw the memory flash through his mind as he fought the smile off his lips.

"It was a good song. I always though you liked it."

"Lem was a bad singer. I never said I liked the song, though. Why would you think that?"

Gendry shrugged. "It fit you. And it was beautiful."

Arya stayed silent.

He sighed and moved to sit beside her. He slowly, reluctantly put his arm around her. She waited to feel repulsed or warm, but she only felt comfortable, so she leaned into him. He seemed to relax as if it was a good sign.

"I remember that song from word to word. Lem liked to sing in for a while after you were gone, too. He usually sang it whenever I was alone or something. Then he died." Arya sighed sadly, but not shockingly. "It wasn't a big deal, loads were dying. He was killed by a Lannister, I think. Not a rare death."

Arya felt his heart when she leaned her head just right. She softly moved to feel the beat of his heart and he shuffled beneath her. She breathed against his neck and he squirmed and blushed. It was a test, Arya thought. She wanted to see him reacting to her, just as she knew she would react when he did anything.

She put her head back on his chest and he gripped her shoulder. His heart was beating really fast.

She was still waiting for him to tell her if the song described anything they… felt.

"Gendry… do you think Lem was singing the song to us?" she asked.

"He was. He told me. I didn't ask, he just… came to me one day. Told me it was a shame, told me he was quite proud of the song. He told me he thought you could have been my maiden of the tree, even if Lord Berric thought it wouldn't be all right."

Arya nodded and stared at the fire. She was surprised when he spoke up again.

"Do you… do you think it would have been all right?" he softly ask her, putting his lips on top of her hair.

She laughed softly. "I do. I think it would have been all right."

"Would you like that, though?"

"What? To be your _Maiden of the Tree_?" she teased. She stroked his chest with her fingers, enjoying the way his breathing fastened if she pressed particularly hard.

"Well… now that you say it, it does sound a little awkward." Gendry let out a forced laughter.

Liar. "No, it doesn't." she pulled away from him and skimmed her hands through his hair, smiling. "It sounds very nice. And if only there wasn't this one thing…" she scraped the tips of her fingers down his temples, cheekbones, jaw, lips and neck, putting her hands to rest on the nape of his neck. She leaned in, almost touching his lips with her own.

"I'm going to Winterfell. And, my Lord, you're coming with me."

**A/N once again…** _I'm probably not going to write smut into the story, BUT! If it pleases enough of you, I might include it or at least write it in a separate oneshot or something… I advise you to state your opinion as soon as possible. Also, Jon/Dany? Do you want less of their story or more, any smut or anything? _

_Reviews, as always, are highly needed._


	6. The Roses at the Twins

**A/N** Let's all just presume Gendry and Arya are passing by the Twins. Let's make them catchable.  
And SO SORRY FOR THE LONG UPDATE! I really couldn't write it any sooner, my laptop has been held captive. I hope you enjoy this, as always, reviews are highly appreciated. Bye darlings!

**Summary**_: At the Twins – see how it goes._

**SANSA**

"No, no, that's entirely wrong. You have to pull it _over_, not under!"

"But it's just the first layer, milady."

"I know that – I am not blind. But to keep the ground drier, you first take care of the top. It's not of any difference to pull one underneath it once you've got a roof. Or whatever you call it." Sansa chastised the men working just beside the Winterfell castle. They were putting up tents for travellers passing through the North. Sansa wasn't a builder; she never took classes in anything similar like the young lords ought to. But she lived out the war, and the experiences in it taught her many things she was proud to know, even in peace.

"On your word, milady. Thank you, milady." The thin, grey haired man softly bowed to her and she nodded. She had no nerves for curtsies outside the castle anymore. She didn't prefer them in there, either, but some things, although irrelevant, were just there to stay. And she knew her mother would prefer it if she kept her manners well.

Sansa crossed all of Winterfell on foot. She was dressed in a comfortable, warm, Northern dress. It was brown and dull, but Bran told her nothing could ever look dull on her. Apparently, her hair and eyes kept any dress extraordinary. She thanked her little brother, but thought it would have been better if she could sometimes just blend in.

She sighed when she stepped into a puddle, splashing mud over the dress. Arya would understand, Sansa thought. Her sister would understand her newly found sense for lack of fashion. She missed Arya so deeply that she sometimes thought she was unconsciously trying to act more like her, to adapt through the empty times where Arya's words of cruel, foul wisdom echoed through the cold North.

"Milady, would you like a horse? You're getting your gown muddy and you've been walking the entire morning. You must be tired." The stable boy held out the reins of a beautiful, grown horse to her, but she refused. Arya would have accepted – she loved riding more than half the men in North. But Sansa enjoyed walking. Tiring herself by her own will and strength, feeling the pleasant ache in her muscles, equally stretched in her every part, that was what gave Sansa the simplest, sweetest pleasures.

As she neared the training yard, her heart fastened and her hands started trembling.

"_Father, can you please let me play with them? Please, just this once!" _Arya's childish voice swung at Sansa through the air. She heard her late father's soft laughter, and his apologetic words.

"_Your mother would think it improper. You could join Sansa – she's with Septa Mordane, they're probably doing something quite as amusing."_

"_But they don't have swords or bows and arrows! They have those foul little needles and stupid books – "_

"_Better not let your mother hear that. How about I take you out the castle for riding? Jon and Robb could come along."_

"_Can we take bows and arrows with us?"_

"_Only if you do an hour of knitting before noon."_

Arya's complaints and excited chatter slowly faded from the chilling air. Sansa's eyes focused onto the empty yard once again. She hoped there would at least be remains of the old wooden swords or arrows stuck into the fence and roof. But the disaster that shook her home managed swiping even those away.

"Sister? Are you here?" Rickon's voice called out to her and Sansa stood up and walked around shelves of books to face him. The library presented a good hideout and peaceful place much closer than the Godswood.

"What's wrong, Rickon?" Sansa ruffled his auburn hair and the act made the boy smile. It wasn't alarming, then.

"There's a man Bran wants you to meet. Says you know him already from a long time ago." Rickon's blue eyes were a shade less colourful than her own. She wondered if he had her mother's or her father's eyes. She really couldn't tell.

"What's this man's name?" Sansa asked. Rickon shrugged, claiming he didn't know or didn't remember. Rickon never paid much attention to these things; he preferred almost anything before sitting in a chair and listening to boring people every day. After all, he was a child still.

When Sansa found Bran sitting in the small room close to the hall, he was alone. He welcomed her and urged her to sit next to him, as he couldn't stand up.

"Rickon says there's a man here to see me." Sansa said.

Bran gave out a small huff. "That's what Rickon thinks. I'm not quite sure whether you'd like to meet this man."

"Who is it?"

Bran looked at her guiltily. "Sandor Clegane."

"Hello, little bird."

The man's voice was as rough as a broken sword, awakening many traumatizing memories in Sansa's mind. She forced a small smile on her face, though, and bowed slightly. The man did not move.

"Hello, Sandor." She answered. His face bore more scars than before. His eyes looked tired. His hands shook uncontrollably. He looked sickly.

"Your little sister left me to die." He said, and smiled widely. She saw one teeth missing. "Brave little thing, that one. Madder than the lot of you, definitely."

"Arya's not mad." Sansa said firmly. "She's just quite decisive. I think it to be a good trait."

"A good one for knight, perhaps. For a girl she used to be then – it was all but."

Sansa sighed and moved back to sit down. "She survived, though, didn't she?"

The Hound gave her a long, questioning look. She waved her hand for him to settle across her.

He didn't move.

"You've changed, little bird. Not so little anymore, not as frightened, either." He mumbled. The growl of his voice was strangely satisfying while saying those words; he thought her stronger than before, this big, dangerous man.

"You haven't." Sansa silently said. "You haven't changed one bit."

The Hound roared with laughter. "Maybe for your kind eyes. I'm ageing, my Lady. I'm tired and sick. The wounds your sister left me in would never quite heal, but the fucking thing won't let me die completely."

"What do you want?"

"I want a life. Or I ask for death." He responded loudly.

"I do not think I can give you either." Sansa sternly replied. She wasn't scared of him anymore, and she was glad. He looked at her softly, though, and she feared there were too many thoughts of her in this man's mind. "But if you want, I can give you a house – "

"I don't want a house." The Hound growled again. "I want an honest goal to serve."

"And you came to me?"

"You've only ever been kind to me, little bird. Your father and sister were both the most honest people I knew. Your father was so honest he was naïve – but your sister, that one was cunning."

She thought the man's definition of 'kind' was quite stretched.

"She still is." Sansa growled back at him.

"Mayhaps. Either way, I want to give my sword to anyone you'd like." The Hound stood straight. Sansa thought he would've stood like it for the whole time unless it hurt him to do so. "Preferably, to your ladyship."

Sansa stared at him for a few moments, rubbing her chin with her hand. Finally, she spoke.

"I don't require your, or anyone else's sword. But I can recommend you a few Lords that could use it. Also I recommend you think about taking the Black. There's always a need for more swords on the Wall, even after the war."

"I couldn't be a Crow." The Hound shook his head. "They're soldiers to flawed people, just like I used to be. I couldn't do it anymore. That's why I offered my services to you. There is no flaw strong enough for me in you."

Sansa winced. She was as flawed as possible. "I thank you, Sandor. But as I've said – I have no need for protection. I'll write you a list of kind, honest Lords that may accept your service. I cannot do anything else."

The Hound stared at her for a long while, but she felt no need to look away. She was calmer than him. She was as troubled as him. And as a woman, she was stronger. Finally, he nodded.

"That is more than I expected, my Lady. Thank you." With that, he spun around and walked out of the hall.

**JON**

Jon urged himself on and on, one step following another, with Daenerys watching him closely as he moved toward her and… the dragons.

Majestic, huge, dangerous. All of the things he'd call them were perfectly accurate in his and all the other people's opinions. If it were up to him, he'd call them ugly and terrible. But with Danerys who loved them and cherished them he had to force himself to look past his own mind. It was Daenerys who made him rethink the dragons. It was Daenerys who changed his view at them only for the way she loved them. Precious, good, strong.

"Are you ready?"

The Queen was wearing her special clothes. It resembled the Dothraki leather fabric, although this was black, the colour of the Targaryen house. She wore trousers – something no living Lady but his sister and Lady Brienne wanted to wear. The fabric was thick but covered Daenerys's body tightly in a way he thought no human should see her.

Well, except of him.

"I am, my Queen."

"Dany." She corrected him, smiling lightly.

He nodded and stepped even closer. They were taking only one dragon, as she thought her trusted would keep the other two safe in King's Landing, and since Jon wasn't ready nor would he ever be, to ride a dragon on his own.

She climbed onto the dragon's back in quick, certain grabs onto his scales, and Jon followed, more reluctantly, in very uncertain and unprepared manner.

He settled behind her into the leather, careful not to grip the dragon's scales – they were sharper than any sword he'd used.

"Hold on, my Lord." Dany said in an amused voice, leaning forward, and he quickly grabbed onto her waist, digging his fingers into her skin a little too tightly, not caring for the possibly improper action. She never seemed to mind, though.

"I will write from the Twins." She called out to Tyrion Lannister. "And Winterfell."

The Imp inclined his head, keeping his eyes firmly put on Dany. "Take care, my Queen. Return to us soon."

She nodded and only added "Keep my dragons safe." before she motioned for her dragon who roared and flapped his giant wings, Tyrion Lannister backing off as fast as his short, twisted legs could take him.

Flying was a menace. Jon groaned loudly for the first hour or so, having Dany snicker at him every so often. A few times she offered a few words of compassion and advice, but he scarcely heard them and barely recognized them in his mind, all tangled in wind and her shouts.

The air was colder the higher they went, every flap of wings making them lull up above, and Jon felt less secure than in any war he had participated.

Soon enough, with night catching up on them, the area changed and he took notice of the thicker, darker forests and the lack of roads and villages. They were nearing the Twins.

The path that would have taken him moons took Dany and her dragon less than a day. The impact of the shock and disbelief lead him to feel less like he was really all the way up in Westeros than he usually would. It was like waking up from a particularly vivid dream; when you open your eyes, you still feel like you're in it. You can't understand where you are, you don't recognize your own bed and you don't know what next to expect.

"We're landing in minutes!" Dany shouted over the wind. He didn't know how she had been able to endure all the cold hours in her short sleeved shirt while he was shuddering underneath his cloak.

"Are we nearing the Twins?" he yelled back, his voice too high. He could practically hear the laughter in Dany although she did her best to stifle it.

"We're _at _the Twins, Stark!"

"Why aren't we're landing, then?"

"Can't you feel it? We're circling and loosing height! It's still going to take long enough to reach the ground!"

Only when she said it did he notice the stronger flaps of the dragon's right wing, the way the land seemed only a little bit closer and the bridge barely visible on the river.

Landing was one of the scariest moments in Jon's life.

The dragon stumbled over the ground (It might have just ran or walked, but for Jon it was all the same), the first step of its claws strong and jumpy. Jon felt the earth shudder.

He jerked into Dany when they finally stopped, and his shaky, cold hands slowly took hold of her shoulders. She softly turned around, slow not to scare him, and looked at his face.

"It's over. We're good." She patted his hand. "Now let's get down."

"Please do." Jon muttered and Dany snickered to herself.

Once his feet touched the ground his knees buckled and he sank down. "I do not want to do this ever again."

"Was it that bad?"

"It was completely unsafe!"

"Was not! He never would have hurt us or let us fall." Dany looked lovingly at her dragon.

"Right." Jon grumbled.

"Jon, please calm down, we've got a fire to build."

"Couldn't _he_ just sneeze?"

Dany huffed and grunted in annoyance before stalking toward the dragon to pull down their furs and food.

"I'm never taking you anywhere again."

**ARYA**

It was the first night he slept peacefully.

She was sitting by the fire and watching his chest rise and fall slowly. He didn't wince at all, like the past moon or two. He was as calm as Nymeria, who he lay beside. His head was turned toward fire and Arya, but one of his hands was buried into the direwolf's fur. Nymeria shuffle slightly toward him in her sleep.

Arya couldn't help but smile at the two. She only had a few ideas about how her wolf recognized Gendry, but she couldn't be sure in either. She knew Nymeria like Gendry well enough from what she's seen in their time together. Gendry seemed doubtful as first, but with time, he grew to barely notice the rawness in Nymeria, and unconsciously ran his hands through her fur every now and then. He bumped her with his shoulder when they ate and laughed at her growling as she bit into her catch. She barked at him and whined when he dived under water. He fed her his leftovers when he thought Arya wasn't looking and he wrestled with her in the morning when Arya was still asleep.

At first, Arya was jealous. She thought Nymeria was maybe starting to warm up to Gendry more than Arya. She thought Nymeria had forgotten her. But slowly, she noticed signs of Nymeria's foxiness; the wolf pushed her closer to Gendry at cold nights when they pushed closely against the wolf's fur.

So now, whenever she saw affection between her wolf and her bull, she smiled knowingly to herself and later hugged Nymeria, whispering hushed words of fondness.

Gendry moved in his sleep, mumbling something inaudible before rolling into Nymeria's side.

Her bull.

Arya stared at the fire and remembered every time they ran into trouble or had misunderstandings – they were never anything but affectionate. They only fought and doubted each other for their mutual fear of leaving one of them behind. In the end, that was what got to them. But she knew she wouldn't let him leave again. She knew he might need persuasion, even with his identity as noble as possible, Gendry would always think of himself as a Flea Bottom bastard.

And Arya would never stop convincing him otherwise.

"Arya?"

She flinched and turned her eyes toward the voice. Gendry's eyes were half open, clouded with sleep.

"Yes?"

"You should be sleeping."

"It's my watch – "

"I don't really think a bird could fly a mile from here without Nymeria knowing about it." Gendry mumbled, closing his eyes again. "Go to sleep."

When she stayed silent, battling with herself, he opened his eyes again. "Come over here." He shrugged the furs down to his waist and sat up. "Come on."

She dwelled on it a moment longer before standing up, spilling water over the fire and tapping toward Gendry in darkness.

His body was hot and when he covered them again, she blended into the heat and welcomed its comfortable presence. Gendry rolled onto his side, facing her. She moved to lay in the same position, her face an inch away from his.  
"Do you want to – "

His hesitant attempt in asking her was cut off when she closed the distance between them and roughly put her lips against his for a second before pulling against his body and tucking her head beneath his chin. He sighed and put his strong arm around her, keeping her locked in his grip. She felt safe. She felt content. Gendry kissed the top of her head before drifting off into his dreams again, and when he pushed her even closer unconsciously, she realized she was happy. In that small, single moment, Arya was happy.

It was terrifying.

The morning barely peeked through the nightly shadows, with dawn at its earliest, and the troio were off to continue their journey.

Arya glanced at Gendry sideways, shaking her short hair around in attempt to at least cover her eyes.

"What?" Gendry growled, not even looking at her.

Arya's heart jumped in shock and soft humiliation. "Nothing." She quickly responded.

They were just on their way to move on, clearing up around the fire ashes while they waited for Nymeria to return from her hunt.

Ever since they woke up, they've been silent. Arya had quickly escaped Gendry's reach when she opened her eyes and then had proceeded toward the woods and river, collecting their breakfast. When she returned, Gendry seemed to be in a particularly bad mood. He wasn't looking at her, not speaking to her. As unnerved as Arya felt, she was grateful for the spark of calm and peace he had unconsciously given her. She had a lot of thinking to do on their behalf, and on what happened the previous day.

Now though, as she could sense Nymeria's closeness, they really had to discuss which way to go. And the way they were, Nymeria probably knew best where to go.

So she sighed and started again. "It's just that – "

"So there _is_ something." Gendry grumbled. Arya huffed and stood up straight, placing her hands on her hips.

"Yes. There is." She snarled. "I think we should move over the Twins.

Gendry's sulkiness seemed to be erased off of his face, now twisting in shock. "Arya – " he began

She cut him off. "They wouldn't expect that. And we can sneak past them!"

"With a direwolf and a horse?" Gendry snorted.

Arya bit her lip before responding. "No." she paused hesitantly. "We get rid of the horse. Nymeria can go past on her own, well enough and unnoticed. She's met us on the other side."

Gendry stared at her. "Are you out of your mind?! Without her, we'd be completely lost! Defenseless! And without the horse, how'd we go on?"

"We wouldn't be caught!" Arya shouted. "And if we were, I'd be glad to fight a Frey!"

"You don't mean that!" Gendry roared and stood up, too.

"No, bull." She hissed. "I want that."

He didn't speak at first. He just stared and stared. When he finally answered, he was shaking. "You'd put yourself out there on purpose. You want revenge."

"Not enough to get us killed! We'll be safe, and I know vengeance can wait."

"What about the horse?"

Arya sighed. "Nymeria can take us both on her back."

Gendry shut his eyes tightly, looking like he was suffering through tremendous pain.

"Fine."

He surrendered.

"But we go during night. And you better listen to me."

Stupid bull.

**BRAN**

He was a shadow. He was no one.

He was a raven, a wolf, a fox and a rabbit.

Cloaked figures held torches in the dark, the flames alive and their carriers still, unmoving, like stone.

Barred teeth in the dark.

Grey fur and yellow eyes.

The long, muscled feet silently scraping through darkness. He moved fast and unnoticed, escaping through the dancing flames like pure wind.

A bridge. He runs over it and leaves the wind behind. He's faster. He's angry and scared. The rock beneath his feet it cold and yielding. He surges over the bridge and stops in the shadows on the other side. He growls and leans down to look into the darkness on the other side. His sharp sight catches them sooner than the eyes of the guards. The guards fall down, one by one.

His heart is tumbling and pushing hard into his chest. He can sense her closeness, the brisk scent of the male person beside her and her own forest one. They run and run.

They're so close.

Something breaks behind him in the forest – a twig, a tree – he cannot tell the difference.

The same thing makes the ground shiver. It makes the night cower and give away to light – not light, it's fire.

And then the dragon roars.

Bran wakes up.

"Sansa!" he shouts into the darkness and shivers beneath cold sweat covering his body. Before his sister tumbles into the room in her night gown, her red hair as sharp in the darkness as dragon's flames, there are already arms holding Bran's thin, shivering form in place.

Meera and Sansa exchange a look Bran had come to know as a worried and both knowing one. They both always knew when Bran's abilities came into the night, uninvited, unwanted.

"What did you see?" Sansa settled down on Bran's other side, clenching his one hand in her claw-like fingers. "_Bran_?"

"I saw…" his lips were dry and his throat was soar. His lungs fought for air like he was running over the long bridge, not Nymeria. "A dragon. _And_ Arya. And I didn't _see_ the dragon, it – "

Meera ran her soft hand across Bran's forehead and he took a deep breath, the touch making him restrain himself from a confused ramble. He recollected himself and started again.

"I was Nymeria. She's all right." He thought Sansa looked pale and maybe it was a pang of jealousy crossing over her face. She missed Lady and mourned her still. But it wasn't important. Not in that moment. "She's with Arya and someone. Arya's companion, I think. They're friends." He blocked out Nymeria's flashbacks in the dream, in which he saw a very poorly dressed Arya bathing in river with the tall, black-haired man. "They were crossing the Twins. They disarmed the guards and ran, they got over it, I think." He didn't want to think about the way the guards fell – they didn't look unharmed. They looked like bags of rocks falling down. They looked _dead_. "But then there was a dragon's roar."

"A _dragon_?" Sansa breathed out and her fingers twitched, still keeping firm hold on Bran's hand. "That must be Jon and the Queen."

"Are they together, then?" Meera asked silently with her chin resting on top of Bran's shoulder.

"No." Bran lightly shivered. "They still haven't met."

There's a silence seeping in through the door Sansa left open. There's coldness unrelated to the one reaching through the same door. And soon, there's Rickon, softly tiptoeing inside the room and standing above the three of them, gazing warily down at Bran.

"I saw it, too."

Sansa shuddered and inhaled sharply, Bran pulled her closer to his embrace and Meera softly moaned before putting a hand over her mouth.

Sansa stood up and walked toward Rickon, claiming him inside her arms. She held him tightly for a small eternity, until he wriggled out and stepped back.

"But I don't think you've seen all of it." Rickon said. "I heard the last bit. And the dragon's roar is not the last thing I remember."

"What did you see?" Bran half shouted at his younger brother.

Rickon glanced all over the room, looking uncomfortable and scared. Finally, his eyes settled on Sansa.

"I saw people running over to Arya, and I saw the dragon fly, and I heard Jon near Nymeria, and then the people with weapons grabbed Arya and the other one and went back to the castle with them."

"The Freys?!" Sansa screamed.

"No – it wasn't their banner." Rickon shook his head.

"Who then – " Meera started, but Bran's memory started to come back. There was something he hadn't looked at quite closely, but now it hadn't seemed to fit in. Above the gates, the Frey's banner was replaced with someone else's.

Rickon's voice echoed around them. "The Tyrells."

**GENDRY**

"Gendry! _Gendry_!"

She was screaming for him, he knew very well. He just couldn't open his eyes just yet. His head was too heavy, his eyes unyielding, his muscles burning. But then her voice got louder and hands were shaking his poor, worn out shoulders.

"Calm the Seven Hells down – I'm up, I'm up." He muttered, lazily opening his eyes.

"Oh!" Arya croaked and grabbed his arms, pulling him up into a sitting position. Her face was scrambled in worry and weariness. There was a brand new cut on her cheek and he hoped he could feel his hands soon so he could see if it was clean.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around them. Arya was kneeling beside him on cold stone floor, and they were inside a small cell, with torches outside the steel door. There were no bars, just a cut in the door allowing the light to come in and probably the food to be pushed through.

"It was the Tyrell's." Arya said fiercely. "I don't know how or why, but there wasn't a single Frey among the soldiers. They held the banners up proudly, and they were all the Tyrell's."

"Thought those were _off_ the map." Gendry groaned. He was starting to feel cold in his feet and his hands shook, but he could wield them. He pushed himself up on his feet and Arya stood up with him, stepping back as he fought to keep his balance.

"Well, so everyone thought. Turns out they're far more clever than anyone would've expected."

"I don't know about that. They are the ones that arranged Joffrey's murder. Did you know? I don't know if people know, but I know." Gendry muttered and went over to a single, lame looking bench in the corner. The wood creaked when his weight fell on it.

Arya calmly stepped toward him, crossing her arms on her chest and standing over him, almost within his reach. He kept thinking about these things ever since their interaction in the river. He always thought about how close she was to him, how he could easily pull her toward him and feel her warmth inside his arms.

"I didn't know. I guess I should thank them… before I _kill them for this_." She growled her last words and Gendry shivered, reaching up for her, but being cut off with a voice coming from behind the door.

"I wouldn't be so reckless. You're not quite prisoners, you know, Lady Arya." A woman's voice cut through the air.

"_Margaery_?" Arya breathed out insecurely. She turned away from Gendry and quickly crossed the distance do the door. "Is it really you?"

"My, my. Weren't years good to you." Margaery Tyrell snickered from behind the door. Gendry huffed in annoyance, despising the obvious obligation to get up and follow Arya.

He did, though. He always followed Arya. (except that one time but that wouldn't ever happen again)

"We _are_ prisoners." He said when he came to stand beside Arya. He could only see cat like eyes staring at them from the cut in the door. "There's only an inch between you and us and we can't touch you. How'd you call that?"

"_Fools_." Margery rolled her eyes and sighed. "You haven't even tried to open the door, have you?"

It was unlocked. Apparently the Frey's castle wasn't very big, and the people that came with the Tyrell's were a big crowd. There were only a few empty chambers that night, and all of them were prison cells.

"We thought there was no place for us anymore." Margaery told them as she walked them through the short corridors of the Frey's former residence. "The politics… well, it didn't have enough spark in it, anymore, too. We knew the dragons rule strictly. These aren't times for the Tyrell's.

"So you hid away?" Arya snorted. Gendry caught her shoulder and squeezed it. She barely acknowledged the touch, staring at Margaery who didn't even look back at her.

"We did what we knew was of most help." Margaery coldly said. "We got rid of the filth. Got rid of the Frey's. It only seemed natural and logical to take their place. We needed to stay away from everything, and this was a good place. No one like the Frey's much, anyway. We ought to have been safe in here. And we were, for years." Margaery turned around to shoot Arya a good hearted glare. "Until you had to show up. Now our cover's blown."

"You could just talk to the Queen?" Gendry suggested.

Margaery laughed like it was the last thing the Tyrell's were to do. But… "It seems we have no other choice, now."

Gendry turned out of the rest of their conversation, in which Arya kept talking about why their hiding was the wrong thing to do for years and Margaery didn't pay her too much notice.

Instead of that, he glanced around the walls.

He doubted the Frey's were what made the castle warm. There were many plants braiding around the walls, a few tapestries and windows wherever it was possible. Gendry had a firm belief this was what the Highgarden's residents had made of the castle. He wondered if the Tyrell's missed their home. He wondered if they would live their again.

"Where are you taking us, anyway?" Arya asked and Gendry turned in again.

"There are two people waiting for you. I thought you should see them the soonest you could."

Arya glanced up at Gendry and he, without hesitating, put his arm around her and pulled her tightly against his side. He kissed the top of her head and she wrapped her arms around his midsection for a moment before they simultaneously let go of each other.

**DANY**

Dany was right the first time, although this time, she knew it for a fact.

Arya was Jon's sister most definitely, with their looks and expressions.

The two of them, Jon and Dany, were sitting impatiently in the Hall of the Tyrell's. Roses surrounded them and plucked into their noses. Dany thought Jon looked sick, all too pale and breathing shallowly.

"They didn't hurt her." Dany whispered to him. There wasn't anyone but them, yet, she felt like the whispering was necessary.

Jon only nodded, not voicing his thoughts. He didn't even look at her and Dany squirmed in her seat.

Then they heard Margaery's voice (they briefly met the woman, all beautiful and dashing in her revealing gown. Dany thought the clothes reminded her of her own gowns, but she wouldn't mention it at all, not quite happy with the girl that smiled at Jon so slyly) and more than one pair of footsteps.

Jon didn't say his sister's name, he didn't scream or anything, the only reaction Dany noticed was the sharp intake of breath and the way he appeared in front of Arya as soon as she entered the room. They were hugging, crushing each other's bones, only a second later.

Daenerys couldn't see Arya's face, hidden in Jon's neck, but the siblings' combined, loud laughter soon blossomed in the Hall.

Daenerys was pleasantly surprised with Arya's voice – she had almost expected it to be as cold and containing as Jon's, but Arya's voice was more musical, sharper and pointier, but still, swift and cunning.

Daenerys finally separated her eyes from them to look at Margaery, only to notice the woman was standing with yet another newcomer. A tall, black haired man stood on a polite distance from both Margaery and Arya, but his eyes were trained on the Queen. She resisted the urge to frowned, instead setting away any emotion in her expression.

He blinked and she saw his jaw set before he looked away.

Daenerys was confused and a little irritated – she looked harder at the man, and between him and all the others in the room.

He was well muscled, obviously not a lord, but also not quite a commoner. Although he seemed to sharp to have been raised in a lord's environment, he poised himself too courageously to be a villager or a servant. No, one of the lowborns wouldn't dare stare at their Queen with their back's straight, heads up and eyes glaring.

There was something about him she found unsettling – something that she thought she should recognize, something she should be well aware of…

"Dany!"

Jon's voice broke through the fog of thoughts clouding his Queen's mind. She turned to see him still clinging onto his sister, but looking at Dany with a huge smile and hopeful eyes. She felt her throat tighten and her mind jump to the ever-standing conclusion – it wasn't fair.

"Dany, come meet my little sister." Jon said, and his voice was as unemotional as it had been the day they decided to fly to find Arya. His voice was broken like he had screamed for hours and hours, but in the good way.

Daenerys approached them, hesitantly smiling at Jon's sister, looking for a clue of particular discomfort or anything negative. But Arya Stark only curiously met her gaze and returned the smile the Queen had offered. It felt wonderful, feeling something finally go in the right direction. Dany and Arya shook hands and bowed to each other slightly, not bothering with titles our courtesies. It wasn't that Dany had anything against those – she was a queen, after all, and had come their on her own, fighting and craving her rightful place until she could breathe in and out calmly upon the Iron throne. But Jon was always the part of her that felt improper and wrong in all the expectations, and she could never quite be her usual self and not act at least a little improper. She enjoyed looking at Arya Stark and not being obligated or scowled at for not following manners when this girl had not been in a castle for more than 7 years at least (not under her name, at least).

"My Queen." Arya said with a smile and Daenerys could only admire her sharp, long face reflecting that special Stark strength Jon too, possessed.

"I would prefer it if you called me Dany." She responded and Arya laughed. "How should I call you?"

Arya glanced at Jon as if sharing an intimate joke, then looking back at Dany and replying "Just Arya, if you please."

"Of course, _Arya_." Dany looked at Jon for a moment, wondering if it would be a good time to mention how much resemblance the two had. "If you want to, we could all just go away for a while, so you two can catch up."

Arya looked up at Jon and smiled happily. "That would be wonderful, just – "

Dany and Jon exchanged a confused look when she looked around them, and then Dany realized.

The tall man was gone.

"Would you like me to find him?" Dany softly asked Arya.

"I couldn't ask that from you." Arya guiltily chewed on her lips and blushed at the understanding in Dany's voice.

"I've wanted to go for a walk anyway." Dany gave her a reassuring smile and patted her on the shoulder. Arya gratefully nodded and sighed.

"If you truly would do that, could you please tell him to bring her, too?"

"Is that a code name?" Dany asked. "Just… her?"

Jon was looking somewhere between angry and confused when Arya smiled again. "He'll know. It's a surprise."

And Dany smiled and turn away, walking out. Margaery was already out, and Dany had a feeling there was only one way the man could have gone. And it was most definitely out of the castle.

Before shutting the door behind her, Dany dared to look back for only one moment.

It was enough to catch Jon's eye, and the man she loved only returned her look, not even pretending he could smile.

Yes, she thought as she went to get the man the Stark girl wanted at her side, Jon was as happy as he could be in these times, but that had still not meant he could be happy _with_ her.


End file.
